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Victim of Good Luck 

A Novel 

By W. E. NORRIS 

THOR OF MATRIMONY, MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC, MARCIA, ETC. 



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A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK 


A NOVEL 


V 

NORRIS 

AUTHOR OF MATRIMONY, MADEMOISELLE DE MERSAC, MARCIA, ETC. 


NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1894 








V'Z- 2, 

,\V^ 



Copyright, 1894, 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


Electrotyped and Printed 
at the Appleton Press, U. S. A. 


CONTENTS 


TED 


—The Rector of Harbury Vale 

— Veronica 

—The Preacher and the Poet 
— Veronica makes Inquiries 
— The Injured Innocent . 

—A Friendly Compact 
—Dolly Cradock 
—Complications . 

—Veronica is highly complimen 
—An Incomplete Explanation 
—Enough of it 

—Horace cuts a Poor Figure 
—The New Order of Things 
—The Wisdom of Joseph . 
—Veronica’s Reply 
—The Undesirable Guest . 

-Mr. Mostyn gets his Feet wet in 
-Dolly in her Glory 
-Pride has a Fall . 

-Veronica changes her Mind 
-Musa Consolatrix . 

-Joseph is willing to oblige 
-The Downfall of an Idol 
-Job’s Comforters 
-Joseph’s Host . 

-Felicitations 


vain 


PAGE 
. 1 
. 14 
. 26 
. 39 
. 50 
. 64 
. 75 
. 89 
. 100 
. 113 
. 124 
. 135 
. 149 
. 163 
. 175 
. 186 
. 198 
. 210 
. 223 
. 236 
. 247 
. 259 
. 271 
. 284 
. 296 
. 311 


(iii) 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE RECTOR OF HARBURY YALE. 

The Reverend John Dimsdale was seated in his 
study, one fine spring morning, wrestling with the 
composition of a discourse, to be delivered on the com- 
ing Sunday. Although he had for many years been 
in the habit of preaching without notes, it was, never- 
theless, necessary that his sermons should be well 
thought out in advance, and he had not found that any 
great economy of time was effected by the abandon- 
ment of pen and paper. For he was a nervous, con- 
scientious, irritable man — as anybody might have dis- 
covered by a glance at his high, wrinkled forehead, his 
bald head, his twitching lips and the long, thin fingers, > 
which kept plucking his grey beard — and he always 
tried hard not ‘to scamp his work, distasteful as a large 
portion of it was to him. At Harbury Vale, of which 
country parish in the Thames valley he had been 
Rector for so long that he had quite ceased to dream 

of possible preferment, he was accounted a very fine 
(i) 


2 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


preacher, and people who came from as far off as 
Windsor and Reading on purpose to hear him seldom 
went away disappointed. Probably not one in a hun- 
dred guessed how much he hated preaching. Fluency, 
and even occasional eloquence, he ought to have known 
that he possessed ; but, as a matter of fact, he could not 
feel sure of himself. Like those self-distrustful per- 
sons who have escaped sea-sickness through a score of 
voyages, yet who never set foot on shipboard without 
an inward sinking of the heart, he had no confidence in 
his own invincibility, and the possibility of a disastrous 
breakdown was always before his eyes. 

On this particular morning he was more than usu- 
ally worried. “ Set your affections on things above, not 
on things of the earth” was to be the theme of his 
homily, and he was conscious of being altogether out of 
harmony with it. The principle, of course, was sound, 
and might be supported by the customary commonplace 
reflections, but poor Mr. Dimsdale did not want to be 
more commonplace than he could help, and he had not, 
so far, been able to see his way to any original utter- 
ances. He pushed his chair back from the table, got up 
and began to pace restlessly about the room, rumpling 
his sparse hair with both hands. 

“ 1 Fret not thyself, and verily thou shalt be fed ’ . . . 
Oh, dear ! what dreadful nonsense that sounds ! As if 
any man was likely to get bread and butter unless he 
fretted himself. . . or even if he did! Well, there’s 
something in that. It isn’t the fretting that earns the 
bread and butter — it’s the quiet, persistent performance 


THE IiECTOR OF HARBURY VALE. 


3 


of daily duties. At any rate, one might be justified in 
; saying so, though it does seem to me that a man may 
perform his daily duties in a quiet, persistent way for a 
great number of years and yet not know where to turn 
; for a five-pound note at the end of them. 4 The world 
! is too much with us ’ . . . Yes, but that isn’t always 
our fault. Troubles come, emergencies arise, and we 
| have to deal with them ; it’s monstrous to tell an un- 
| fortunate fellow that he ought to have faith and believe 
that all is ordered for the best. Your daughters marry 
poor curates and have babies every year, and if you 
don’t help them out, nobody will ; your only son gets 
plucked for the army, and seems to think it rather a 
good joke than otherwise. It is as much as you can 
: do to pay the weekly bills . . . and upon the top of all 
that, you must needs exhort your fellow-sufferers to 
take no heed for the morrow ! ” 

The Rector walked to the window and rested his 
burning forehead upon the glass. Outside, the sun was 
shining brightly upon the lawn, upon the yellow cro- 
cuses and the Lent-lilies ; a missel-thrush, perched upon 
a bare bough, was singing exultant defiance to the east 
wind; the horse-chestnut buds were bursting. It would 
i have been pleasant to go out for a walk and get 
rid of the cobwebs, but that was not to be thought 
of. Work must be done first, and there was not too 
much time left to do it in. Naturally, therefore, the 
slow creak of the opening door was a sound to be re- 
sented. 

It was JVJrs. Dimsdale, who, with a copy of the Times 


4 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


in her hand, had come in to say, “ What do you think, 
John? Old Mr. Trevor is dead.” 

“Well, my dear,” the Rector returned rather 
crossly, “ really I can’t help it if he is. I didn’t kill 
him.” 

Mrs. Dimsdale seated herself in one of the worn, 
leather-covered arm-chairs and laughed. She was a 
stout, comfortable-looking matron, who had had her 
share of good looks in days gone by, and whose rounded 
cheeks were not disfigured by the lines with which care 
had furrowed those of her husband. 

“ But it’s most interesting, you know,” she protested. 
“Are you still up in the clouds, John? Have you for- 
gotten who Mr. Trevor was ? ” 

“ I have not forgotten, nor am I likely to forget,” 
answered the Rector, “what a thorn Mr. Trevor has 
been in the side of his bishop and of the Church. I 
believe him to have been honest, though bigoted and 
mischievous. At the same time, Elizabeth, I must ask 
you to postpone all discussion of his merits or de- 
merits to some other occasion. I have my sermon to 
think out, and ” 

“Sit down, John, and don’t get into a state of 
mind. You know how useless it is for you to rehearse 
sermons when you are not in a temper for them. I 
can see by your face that you have come to a knot ; 
and at such moments there is only one thing to be 
done — drop the subject. I am very sorry I didn’t inter- 
rupt you sooner. Now I am going to read you what 
the Times says about Mr. Trevor. It is under the 


THE HECTOR OF HARBURY YALE. 


5 


heading of ‘ Obituary,’ and they have given him three 
quarters of a column all to himself.” 

The Rector, who had long since acquired the ex- 
perience which every married man ends by acquiring, 
sat down and folded his hands patiently, while his wife, 
after adjusting her spectacles, proceeded to quote the 
following appreciative paragraphs — 

“ 4 The religious and charitable world may be said 
to have sustained a severe loss by the death of Mr. 
Trevor, J. P. and D. L., who passed away yesterday at 
his residence, Broxham Hall, Norfolk, in a green old 
age. Although the deceased gentleman took no active 
part in politics after the passing of the Reform Act of 
1868, and resigned his seat in Parliament immediately 
upon the enactment of a measure to which he was 
stfongly opposed, his name and his person have not 
ceased throughout the last quarter of a century to be 
familiar to his fellow-countrymen. Whether the fre- 
quent prosecutions with which his memory will be 
identified were or were not ill-advised, whether his out- 
spoken hatred of Ritualism and his dread of the foot- 
hold obtained in England during his lifetime by the 
Church of Rome were exaggerated or not, are questions 
which are scarcely likely to be answered in the sense that 
he would have wished by a generation which has grown 
tolerant, if not indifferent, as to such matters ; but it 
will be conceded alike by friend and foe that Samuel 
Trevor was a man of the strictest integrity and the 
most blameless personal life. Born as long ago as 1807, 
and educated in the tenets of the Evangelical school, 


6 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


to which his father, a well-known politician of the day, 
belonged, Samuel Trevor imbibed, while still a young 
man, principles from which he never swerved until the 
last day of his life.’ 

“ Then,” said Mrs. Dimsdale, looking up over her 
spectacles, “ there is a great deal about Wilberforce and 
Buxton and Clapham, and all that sort of thing. Also 
about his prosecutions of the Ritualists and the money 
that he spent upon them, and so forth. You can read 
it to yourself afterwards, if you like.” 

“ I don’t think I particularly care to read it,” an- 
swered the Rector of Harbury Vale, who was a moder- 
ate High Churchman. 

“No, I dare say not. Well, here is the finish of it. 
‘ But, when all is said and done, the claims which the 
late Mr. Trevor possessed upon public esteem and 
veneration are beyond dispute. Vehement and occa- 
sionally bitter as a controversialist he may have been ; 
his methods of testifying to the sincerity of his religious 
convictions may not always have commended them- 
selves to modern approval ; but his boundless gener- 
osity, his unfailing care for the sick and needy and 
the admirable uses to which he devoted a large fortune, 
of which more than half is said to have been expended 
by him upon good works, will, it is to be hoped, be 
remembered long after the somewhat vexatious 
proceedings which he deemed it his duty, of re- 
cent years, to institute against offending clergymen 
have been forgotten and forgiven.’ Dear me, what 
a prodigious sentence! I only saw him once. He 


THE RECTOR OF HARBURY VALE. 7 

struck me as being a particularly disagreeable old 
man.” 

“ H’m ! He struck a good many other people in the 
same light, my dear,” observed the Rector, stroking his 
beard meditatively. “ I wonder whether he has done 
anything for Veronica.” 

“ Why, of course he has ! ” returned Mrs. Dims- 
dale, with a touch of impatience. “ That’s just 
it; that’s why I say that his death is an interest- 
ing event. He promised to provide for her, you 
know.” 

“ I think not, Elizabeth ; I certainly did not under- 
stand that there had been any definite promise. Some 
years ago, when Mrs. Mansfield endeavoured unsuccess- 
fully to arrange a meeting between him and his niece, 
he did, I believe, say that her name would probably be 
found in his will ; but that was all. And very little, I 
should think, can be expected from such a rancorous 
old — ahem ! — from so obstinately prejudiced a person 
as he was.” 

“ Ah ! you are such a pessimist, John ! I don’t 
mean about Mr. Trevor’s character, because I quite 
agree with you that he was an unnatural old horror, 
but about Veronica’s prospects. After all, she is his 
sister’s only child.” 

“ As he refused to hold any communication with his 
sister after her marriage, and as he could never be per- 
suaded to see her only child, that seems rather a poor 
foundation to build Spanish castles upon,” remarked 
the Rector drily. “ May I ask, Elizabeth, whether you 


8 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


expect to hear that he has constituted Veronica his sole 
heiress ? ” 

“ No, John, I do not ; but I expect to hear that he 
has left her something like £10,000 — I don’t mind tell- 
ing you that.” 

“ I trust you will not be foolish enough to tell the 
girl anything so absurd. You will only lay up an ut- 
terly unnecessary disappointment for her if you do.” 

“ I doubt whether any disappointment of that kind 
would affect her; Veronica cares so little about money, 
poor dear ! But I am convinced that she will inherit 
a handsome sum ; and so would you be, John, if you 
were not determined to see everything en noir this 
morning.” 

“ If I saw the world through rose-coloured glasses 
just at present I should possess your highly enviable 
temperament, my dear, and Heaven has not so far fa- 
voured me. It is all very fine to be cheerful and san- 
guine, but one must have some sort of reasonable 
ground for feeling so, or at least so it appears to me. 
I know I ought to send poor Lizzie a trifle, and Martha 
writes to say that they have decided to put down the 
pony-cart, though how they are to manage without a 
conveyance of some kind in that lonely parish I’m sure 
I don’t know. And here is Joe upon one’s hands, and 
likely to remain upon one’s hands indefinitely.” 

“Don’t trouble about Joe,” said Mrs. Dimsdale, 
placidly. “ With his talents he is certain to make his 
way in the world sooner or later, and I don’t know that 
his having failed for the Army is such a great misfor- 


THE RECTOR OF HARBURY YALE. 9 

tune, after all. A military career has so very few prizes 
to offer.” 

u And, such as they are, it would have been very 
strange if he had secured one of them. There I am 
quite with you, Elizabeth. However great Joe’s talents 
may be, they have never yet enabled him to carry off 
a prize of any description— not even a good conduct 
prize.” 

“ Well, John,” returned Mrs. Dimsdale, bristling up, 
as she always did when any of her offspring were at- 
tacked, “ I really don’t think that you have had any 
cause to complain of Joe’s conduct, at all events. And 
you yourself have always admitted that he has twice as 
much intelligence as the generality of boys and young 
men.” 

“ Oh, he has intelligence, he has plenty of intelli- 
gence — coupled with eccentricity. Whether that com- 
bination is likely to be of any practical service to him 
is another question. For nothing can be more certain 
than that he will have to earn his daily bread somehow 
or other. I am not Mr. Trevor, remember; I am 
neither as rich nor as robust as he was ; and when I die 
there will be little enough left for those whom I am 
bound to provide for to live upon.” 

“ It will all come right, John,” Mrs. Dimsdale de- 
clared soothingly; “and even if it were all going to 
come wrong, suffering in anticipation would not mend 
matters. The truth is that you want a tonic.” 

“ No, no ! ” returned the Rector hastily, for he had 
had ample experience of his wife’s doses, and he knew 


10 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


what the effects of them generally were — “ I assure you 
I don’t want that, my dear. What I really do want is 
to be permitted to get on with my sermon, for which 
you have already furnished me with some valuable 
hints. One should strive to cultivate your habitual 
frame of mind ; one should never suffer in anticipation. 
I am convinced of it, and I will tell the people so.” 

Mrs. Dimsdale rose slowly, picked up her newspaper 
and moved towards the door. “ I only wish you would 
practise what you preach ! ” she remarked. “ Then you 
wouldn’t give yourself a headache by struggling with 
ideas which would come quite naturally to you if you 
waited for them until you were in the pulpit. I must 
try to find Veronica now and tell her the news.” 

The Rector, who had drawn his chair up to the 
writing-table once more, looked over his shoulder to 
say, “ For goodness’ sake, don’t go and tell her that she 
has come into a fortune ! ” 

“Of course I shall do nothing of the kind,” an- 
swered Mrs. Dimsdale; “what do you take me for? 
But it stands to reason that she must be informed of 
her uncle’s death, and that she must order mourning.” 

“ If her uncle has left her money enough to pay for 
a black gown, she may consider herself lucky,” mur- 
mured the despondent Rector when he was left alone. 

But the prospect was not really so unsatisfactory as 
that; nor in his heart did he believe that it was. 
Something would doubtless prove to have been done for 
Veronica, whose claims had been virtually acknowl- 
edged by the late Mr. Trevor, although they had never 


THE HECTOR OF HARBURY VALE. 


11 

been urged either by her or by those who from her ear- 
liest childhood had given her a home. 

It was now a matter of five-and-twenty years since 
the younger brother of the Rector of Harbury Yale had 
insisted upon marrying Miss Trevor, notwithstanding 
his lack of means, while Miss Trevor had insisted on 
marrying him, despite the opposition of her nearest 
relatives. There had been no particular harm in Cecil 
Dimsdale, nor any particular good. A dreamy, ineffi- 
cient, amiable member of the community, he might 
have dawdled through life creditably enough for all 
practical purposes, had he possessed money enough to 
dawdle upon, and it was not at all improbable that he 
— or rather his wife — would have been provided with 
the requisite money if he had not, shortly after his mar- 
riage, taken it into his foolish head to do an utterly un- 
pardonable thing. This was not the frittering away of 
a part of Mrs. Cecil’s small fortune in absurd specula- 
tions (although the fact that he had done so was subse- 
quently remembered against him), but his abrupt and 
wholly unexpected secession to the Romish communion. 
He might, like Moses, have broken all the Ten Com- 
mandments at a blow with more hope of ever being 
forgiven by his stern brother-in-law. His wife, who 
shared his change of faith, and possibly caused it, was 
well aware of that ; so it must be assumed that her con- 
victions were strong. Be that as it may, she got noth- 
ing more from the incensed Samuel, save a solemn and 
elaborate written anathema, nor did the extreme pov- 
erty to which she and her husband were soon reduced 


12 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


avail to soften the heart of that outraged Protestant. 
What would have become of the luckless pair if they 
had not gone out in a sailing-boat one day and been 
capsized and happily drowned, it is impossible to say. 
Mr. Trevor professed to see the finger of Providence in 
the fate which overtook them ; possibly he was not mis- 
taken. Their child, a mere infant at the time, was 
taken charge of by the good people at Harbury Yale, 
and brought up by them as a member of the Church 
of England ; but, notwithstanding this latter circum- 
stance, Mr. Trevor had always declined to see the girl 
or to recognise her in any way. She was the child of 
wicked parents, he was wont to say, and those who had 
chosen to take the responsibility of receiving her into 
their family circle must accept the consequences of so 
rash an act. For the rest, she had a little money, in- 
herited from her mother — about £200 a year, it turned 
out eventually to be — so that the Reverend John and 
his excellent wife did not consider themselves entitled 
to any thanks for feeding, clothing and educating her. 
Now that she was of age, she paid for her food and 
dressed herself out of the proceeds of her own small 
fortune. In one sense also she had educated herself ; 
for Veronica Dimsdale was a young woman of marked 
individuality, who formed her opinions and regulated 
her course of study at first hand — or thought that she 
did so. It was, at all events, neither from Uncle John 
nor from Aunt Elizabeth that she had derived some of 
the views that she held, and the former was not free 
from occasional misgivings on her score. The Rever- 


THE RECTOR OF HARBURY VALE. 


13 


end John did not think it at all desirable that women 
should know too much, and there were sundry authors 
whose works he would fain have forbidden his niece to 
read ; but she had quietly argued the point with him, 
and, as he had not had the best of the argument, he 
had yielded with a sigh. His own blameless Lizzie and 
Martha and Deborah had always submitted cheerfully 
to the existence of an “ Index Expurgatorius ” ; but 
then they were far more docile, and far less eager for 
information, than Veronica. That may have been one 
reason why he could not help finding Veronica’s society 
more stimulating than theirs. 


2 


CHAPTER II. 


VERONICA. 

The Harbury Vale Rectory is a low, straggling 
building, of which the white walls are almost concealed 
by wistaria, clematis, banksia roses, jasmine and other 
climbing plants. It stands among green pasture-lands ; 
facing it, and at an almost imperceptibly lower level, 
flows the broad river, while woods of beech, oak and 
elm rise gently behind it ; so that it is a charmingly 
pretty place in summer, a frequently flooded place in 
autumn and winter and an undeniably damp place all 
the year round. However, it enjoys the advantage of a 
gravel soil, which may account for the fact that Mr. 
and Mrs. Dimsdale had successfully reared four chil- 
dren, as well as a niece, during their residence at Har- 
bury Vale, and that their doctor’s bill at the end of 
each year never exceeded a modest total. 

Of these four children the two eldest had fulfilled 
their manifest destiny by espousing curates. Deborah 
— poor, plain-featured Deborah, for whom no mate had 
as yet been found — still remained beneath the paternal 
roof; while Joe, the youngest of the flock, was also for 
the present at home, and was a walking testimony to the 

(14) 


VERONICA. 


15 


salubrity of his birthplace. Tall, broad-shouldered and 
well put together, Joe Dimsdale left nothing to be de- 
sired in the matter of physique : it was a pity (or, at all 
events, his mother thought so) that his red hair, his 
freckled cheeks and irregular features, rendered it im- 
possible for anybody to call him good-looking. But 
Joe himself, who had not yet begun to shave, and who, 
consequently, seldom examined his countenance in the 
glass, was very well satisfied with the body in which it 
had pleased Providence to locate a spirit capable of 
huge enjoyment. So long as there were hounds to be 
followed on foot (for the Rectory stables contained but 
one horse, and to ask that animal to jump over the most 
insignificant fence would have been much the same 
thing as asking him to win the Grand National) ; so 
long as there were rabbits to be potted and even an 
occasional partridge to be laid low ; so long as Father 
Thames continued to afford facilities for sculling, 
canoeing and swimming, the world, in Joe Dimsdale’s 
opinion, was satisfactory enough. Even when there 
was nothing else to do, there were pretty generally rats 
to be killed ; and on this March morning Joe, assisted 
by the man-of-all-work and by his broken-haired fox- 
terrier Nipper, was engaged in killing rats, which is a 
far pleasanter occupation than composing sermons. 

It was in the stable-yard that this necessary process 
of exterminating vermin was being carried out upon 
the most approved principles. Joe, with the eager 
Nipper secured tightly between his legs, was awaiting 
the moment for each squeaking rat to be released, in 


16 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


turn, by the man-of-all work from its wire cage. The 
dog was doing his work admirably, the bodies of the 
quickly slain lay piled up in the background, and it 
really seemed a sad pity when only one more victim 
remained for execution. 

“ We’ve come to the last of them, Veronica,” said 
the young fellow regretfully, glancing up at the tall, 
dark-haired girl who had been a silent spectator of this 
scientific butchery. “ He’s a fine big chap though to 
finish with. Isn’t he making a row about it, too !” 

Veronica did not reply; but just at the critical in- 
stant, when the rat was set free, she suddenly opened 
the sunshade, which she had been swinging on one 
finger, in the dog’s face. Away went the rat; away, 
after a second of natural bewilderment, went Nipper in 
pursuit ; and then there was a brief scene of excitement, 
terminating — as in that enclosed space it was pretty 
certain to terminate — in a brilliant victory for the at- 
tacking forces. 

“ Now, what in the world made you do that, Ve- 
ronica ? ” asked J oe, in accents which expressed amused 
curiosity rather than displeasure. 

“ Impulse, I suppose,” answered the girl. “ It 
wasn’t much use, was it? ” 

“No, but it might have been; and if it had you 
would have grieved me and made Nipper feel ashamed 
of himself and let a pestilent animal loose upon society. 
You should think of these things before you act, Ve- 
ronica; you are far too ready to yield to your impulses.” 

The girl laughed a little. She was evidently upon 


VERONICA. 


17 


terms of mutual comprehension with her companion, 
and saw that he was only trying to be funny because lie 
was afraid of having distressed her. “ Come down to 
the river,” she said abruptly ; “ there are no rats there.” 

“ Oh ! aren’t there, though ! ” Joe returned. 

“ Well, I don’t so much mind in the case of water- 
rats ; they have at least a chance for their lives. But 
the whole thing — everything that goes by the name of 
sport — is brutal and horrible.” 

It was impossible for Joe Dimsdale to let such a 
sweeping assertion as that pass unchallenged. Sincere 
as his atfection and admiration for his cousin were, he 
felt bound to explain that sport is ennobling, not de- 
grading, and he argued the point with her while they 
strolled across the grass towards that fence on the bank 
of the river where they had held many previous collo- 
quies of a more or less desultory character. Veronica 
and Joe had always been friencfs, although they differed 
in temperament almost as much as they did in appear- 
ance. Veronica was one of those somewhat rare human 
beings who, without actual beauty of form or feature, 
have a personal attractiveness which defies analysis. It 
may have been her voice, which was low-pitched and 
had odd breaks in it ; it may have been the clear pallor 
of her complexion or the natural grace of her move- 
ments that distinguished her from the common herd 
and caused most members of the opposite sex to pay her 
a homage that she did not covet ; but nobody had ever 
had the hardihood to call her beautiful, much less 
pretty. She had grey eyes, which grew light or dark in 


18 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


obedience to the stirring of her emotions ; she had long, 
dark eyelashes, and, colourless though her face was, she 
conveyed the impression of being in perfect health. 
When you had said that you had said all that could be 
said for her in a physical sense ; for her mouth was too 
large, her nose was of no particular shape, and the out- 
line of her person was rather angular. Her conversa- 
tion, to be sure, was interesting, because she was in the 
habit of saying what she thought, and her thoughts 
were usually original. She read a great deal ; she was 
considered clever; Mr. Mostyn, the great poet, critic 
and philosopher, had not hesitated to predict that she 
had a literary future before her. 

The same eminent authority had not felt able to use 
equally hopeful language with respect to Joe, whose 
future for the moment had become an unknown quan- 
tity, owing to his repeated failures to pass the requisite 
examinations for admission into the Army. Yet Joe, 
too, was clever in some ways, being singularly observant 
and often shrewd in his judgments of men and things. 
“ But what,” his father would pertinently ask, “ is the 
use of qualities which cannot be turned to any practical 
account ? What is the use of knowing the note of every 
bird that flies, and being acquainted with the where- 
abouts of every fox’s earth within twenty miles, and 
being able to rattle off the pedigree of any hound in 
England at a moment’s notice ? To have acquired such 
information implies great diligence and a carefully cul- 
tivated memory ; yet when you lay an examination- 
paper before the fellow and put a simple question to 


VERONICA. 


19 


him about subjects which he has been studying 
for months, he’ll declare that he has forgotten all 
about it.” 

It was natural enough that Mr. Dimsdale should 
think his son very unsatisfactory, and scarcely surprising 
that the neighbourhood at large should find itself in 
sympathetic agreement with Mr. Dimsdale; but Ve- 
ronica was always ready to take up the cudgels on Joe’s, 
behalf. There was scarcely a subject upon which these 
two thought alike ; the one was prone to be poetical 
and visionary, the other, despite his inability to adapt 
himself to the conditions of his lot, was eminently prac- 
tical ; they had not the same friends, nor did they follow 
the same pursuits. Nevertheless, they understood one 
another, and they were under the not altogether erro- 
neous impression that nobody else understood either of 
them. Thus, although they were constantly disputing, 
they never quarrelled ; and the discussion upon which 
they were* now engaged was conducted in an entirely 
amicable spirit. 

“That is all very well, Joseph,” remarked Veronica, 
resting her elbows upon the railing and swinging her 
sunshade to and fro above the turbid water, “ but you 
will never persuade me that killing is not cruel. You 
would think it atrociously cruel if a race of creatures 
much bigger and better armed than yourself were to 
amuse themselves by hunting you to death.” 

“Never said it wasn’t cruel, my dear,” returned Joe, 
who had seated himself sideways upon the fence and 
had lighted a short black pipe; “I only said it was 


20 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


necessary. Do you suppose sheep and oxen like being 
slaughtered for your dinner? ” 

“ Well, you know, I did try being a vegetarian for 
several months, and I only gave it up because Uncle 
John’s arguments about manure seemed to be unanswer- 
able. I grant you that the whole scheme of Nature is 
cruel, and that we are bound to prey upon one another ; 
but there is all the difference in the world between slay- 
ing to support life and slaying for the mere pleasure of 
shedding blood.” 

“Veronica,” said Joe, removing his pipe from his 
lips and pointing it at her didactically, “ I will tell you 
something which, being a woman, you can’t know. Man 
is by nature a bloodthirsty animal, and unless you pro- 
vide him with some legitimate outlet for his instincts, 
the odds are that he will play Old Harry with himself 
and everybody else. Of course, when I say man, I mean 
men , not abnormal beings, like your friend Mr. Mostyn 
and a few others, who can get along quite colnfortably 

upon tea and toast and talk ” 

“ Mr. Mostyn is one of the greatest men of this cen- 
tury,” interjected Veronica calmly. 

“ Very well ; he is all that, if you like, and perhaps 
it isn’t his fault that he was born a muff. But you’ll 
allow that he is abnormal. Goodness only knows what 
sort of a ruffian the ordinary, everyday Englishman, 
such as your humble servant, would develop into if he 
were forbidden to kill birds and beasts and fishes in a 
skilful and sportsmanlike style.” 

“ I can’t quite see how you reconcile those 


VERONICA. 


21 


sentiments with your love of animals,” Veronica re- 
marked. 

“ I don’t,” answered Joe with a grin ; “ I leave them 
to reconcile themselves as best they can, like predestina- 
tion and free-will and a heap of other contraries which 
manage to run in double harness somehow or other. 
All that I can tell you is that I do love animals and I 
do like shooting and fishing, when I can get the chance. 
I ain’t a murderer, but if only I could have passed those 
blessed exams., ’I expect I should have liked fighting, 
too.” 

Veronica made no immediate rejoinder, but con- 
tinued to gaze down reflectively at the river. Her 
cousin’s last words had given another turn to her 
thoughts, and she did not deem it necessary to explain 
to what she was alluding when, after a time, she re- 
marked, “ It’s a dreadful pity ! ” 

“ Yes, it’s a pity,” the young fellow agreed, “ but 
there’s no good in crying about it. I did my best — 
though nobody but you will ever believe I did — and I 
was beaten. It wouldn’t make other people happier to 
be told how disappointed I am. In fact, I suspect I 
should deprive them of their only solace if I forced 
them to sympathise with me instead of groaning over 
me.” 

Veronica laughed. She had a loud, abrupt, but not 
unmelodious laugh, which she never attempted to re- 
press, and which sometimes escaped her a*t inappropriate 
moments. “ Perhaps you would,” she said. “ And what 
will you do now ? ” 


22 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ Well, I was thinking of a land agency. I believe 
it’s what I’m best fitted for. Either that or emigra- 
tion.” 

“ Oh, I can’t let you emigrate ! ” exclaimed Veronica, 
hastily. “ What should I do without you ? ” 

“ The great and good Mostyn would remain in Eng- 
land for your comfort and consolation.” 

“ Joseph, there are times when you disgust me. Oh, 
dear! I wish Uncle Trevor would die and leave me all 
his estates. Then I would make you my agent at once.” 

It was at this dramatically opportune juncture that 
Mrs. Dimsdale, with a knitted shawl flung over her 
shoulders, the Times in her hand, and a voice attuned 
to the melancholy circumstances, stepped out from the 
adjacent shrubbery to say : “Veronica, dear, I have been 
looking for you everywhere. I am sorry to tell you that 
your poor uncle is gone. Here is the announcement of 
his death. I daresay you would like to see what they 
say about him.” 

Joe produced a very large silk pocket-handkerchief 
and held it before his eyes, sobbing aloud. “ Oh ! ” he 
moaned ; “ this is hard to bear ! So righteous, so be- 
nevolent, so fondly affectionate to his nearest relatives j 
And then to be cut off, without the least warning, at 
the comparatively early age of eighty-something ! I do 
think, mother, that you might have broken the sad in- 
telligence more gently. And please, m’m, does the paper 
say anything about deceased’s will? ” 

“Don’t be indecent, Joe,” remonstrated Mrs. Dims- 
dale, smothering a laugh. “ He really was a good man, 


VERONICA. 


23 


according to his lights — at any rate, many people 
thought so — and he was a connection of ours by mar- 
riage, you know. No ; of course there is nothing about 
the will yet.” 

Veronica, who had been glancing at the obituary 
panegyric of which a portion has already been quoted, 
handed the newspaper back to her aunt and remarked : 
“ I can tell you how he has disposed of his property ; 
Mr. Horace Trevor inherits everything.” 

“ Not quite everything, dear,” corrected Mrs. Dims- 
dale. “ There are sure to be charitable bequests ; and 
your aunt Julia, I believe, obtained a promise from her 
brother that you should receive a substantial legacy.” 

u Did she?” asked Veronica, indifferently. “I 
don’t think I want it. I have quite as much money 
as I need.” 

“In that case, my dear,” observed Joe, “you prob- 
ably stand alone amidst the greedy inhabitants of an 
over-populated world. But I have always maintained 
that you are unique. As for me, who am no better than 
I should be, I trust you will excuse my reminding you 
of what you were saying just now, and if you should 
find that you have come in for a trifle of twenty or 
thirty thousand pounds which you don’t need, nothing 
will give me greater satisfaction than to relieve you of 
the burden.” 

But even Mrs. Dimsdale’s sanguine anticipations did 
not rise above the half, or more probably the quarter of 
such a sum, and in truth there was little reason to ex- 
pect that Mr. Trevor, the most obstinate and unforgiv- 


24 : 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


ing of men, would prove to have recognized posthumous 
obligations towards one with whom, during his lifetime, 
he had steadily refused to have anything to do. Mrs. 
Diinsdale wrote a letter of quasi-condolence to Mrs. 
Mansfield, the only surviving sister of the deceased phi- 
lanthropist, but received no reply, and after a few days 
hope died away within her breast. It was disappoint- 
ing, but it was of a piece with that horrid old man’s 
conduct (he was a horrid old man again now) from first 
to last. “ And, after all,” concluded Mrs. Dimsdale* in 
her optimistic way, “ Veronica is certain to marry well, 
which will answer all the purpose. Perhaps, if she had 
come into a little fortune all to herself now, she would 
only have done something dreadfully foolish with it be- 
fore she could have been stopped.” 

Then, one morning, a letter, addressed in a clerkly 
hand, was delivered to Veronica, which she opened 
and perused with feelings of stupefaction rather 
than of exultation — 

“ Lincoln's Inn Fields, W. C., March 18, 189-. 

“Madam, — We are instructed by the executors of 
the late Mr. Samuel Trevor to inform you that, under 
his will, you succeed to his estate of Broxham Hall, in 
the county of Norfolk, together with personalty, of 
which the exact amount cannot at present be ascer- 
tained, but which, we may say, will probably exceed one 
hundred thousand pounds (£100,000). As you will, no 
doubt, wish to be placed in possession of further par- 
ticulars, and as it is desirable that we should have a per- 


VERONICA. 


25 


sonal interview with you, may we beg that you will 
favour us with a call at an early date ? Or, should you 
prefer it, our Mr. Walton will wait upon you at your 
present residence. — We are, Madam, your obedient serv- 
ants, ‘ 

“ Walton, Johnson, Hopkins and Co., Solicitors.” 

Veronica read the above letter through several times, 
with increasing bewilderment. Then she handed it 
over to the Rector, who had noticed the superscription, 
and had been surveying her inquiringly over his spec- 
tacles. 

“Uncle John,” she said, “will you look at this, 
please, and tell me whether it is genuine or not? I 
hope it is only a stupid practical joke.” 

Mr. Dimsdale was a good deal amused at the time by 
what struck him as being the oddest comment he had 
ever heard in his life upon a piece of extraordinary good 
luck ; yet subsequent events led him more than once to 
doubt whether the late Mr. Trevor had not in truth 
meant to perpetrate a grim jest at the expense of sun- 
dry survivors by bequeathing money and lands to an 
utterly inexperienced girl. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE PREACHER AND THE POET. 

The following day was a Sunday, and letters are not 
delivered on Sundays at Harbury Yale ; still, those who 
are in a hurry for their correspondence may obtain it by 
applying at the village post-office, so that the Rectory 
folks usually halted there on their way to church. This 
practice, as a rule, possessed little interest for Veronica, 
who seldom received a letter on any day of the week ; 
but now she was, for once, rather anxious to hear 
whether there was anything for her, because she 
thought it not improbable that her aunt, Mrs. Mans- 
field, might have written. And her anticipations were 
verified. A thick, black-edged envelope was handed to 
her, a similar one was awarded to Mrs. Dimsdale, and 
as the party resumed its march, to the accompaniment 
of a noisy peal of bells, each lady perused her missive, 
Veronica silently, Mrs. Dimsdale with interjecti^nal 
grunts and subdued expressions of approval. 

Mrs. Mansfield’s letter to her niece was, as the latter 
had expected it to be, an invitation. “ Mr. Walton tells 
me that he must see you,” this good-natured lady, who 
had never shared her late brother’s peculiar prejudices, 
(20) 


THE PREACHER AND THE POET. 


27 


wrote, “ and of course I shall be only too glad to give 
you house-room, and to do anything that I can for you. 
Your position altogether is so extraordinary and so un- 
foreseen that one hardly realises it yet, or sees what steps 
you ought to take ; but I should think your best plan 
will be to stay with me until things have unravelled 
themselves a little and some sort of scheme can be 
formed for your future life. I ought to have answered 
Mrs. Dimsdale’s letter before this : my only excuse is 
that I have been literally stunned and unable to write to 
anybody. As I think I told you, I think it was quite 
an understood thing that poor Horace was to succeed to 
the property, and although there had been a coolness of 
late between him and your uncle, I never for one mo- 
ment imagined that Samuel would go to the extreme 
length of altering his will ! I cannot help thinking 
that he must have done it in a moment of mental ab- 
erration, and that he would have repaired such an act of 
injustice if he had lived a little longer. Not that there 
is the slightest intention of disputing the will, or that I 
at all grudge you your wonderful good luck — pray don’t 
suppose that, my dear ! Still, it is hard upon Horace, 
who, if he isn’t exactly a saint or a Methodist minister, 
has always been quite as well-behaved as other young 
men. However, I will tell you all about it when you 
come. Meanwhile, I am always your affectionate aunt, 
Julia Mansfield.” 

“Well, that disposes of one difficulty,” Mrs. I)ims- 
dale remarked, in a tone of satisfaction, as she stuffed 
her letter into her pocket and passed her arm through 


2a 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


her niece’s. “ Very kind and thoughtful of your Aunt 
Julia, I’m sure, and she writes in the nicest possible 
way about you. What a mercy it is that you have an 
Aunt Julia to go to! 

“I have an Aunt Elizabeth who has satisfied my 
modest requirements pretty well, so far,” remarked Ve- 
ronica, smiling. 

“ Ah, so far ! but every tiling is changed now. I am 
only a poor old country mouse, and I shouldn’t have 
known in the least how to be of service to you under 
these altered circumstances whereas Mrs. Mansfield is 
a woman of the world, who will be able to tell you ex- 
actly what you ought to do. Who is this young Horace, 
who seems to have been disinherited in your favour? 
Not a nephew of old Mr. Trevor’s, surely? I never 
heard of his having had a brother.” 

“ Only a distant kinsman whom he adopted, I be- 
lieve,” answered Veronica, “ but I really never thought 
of asking any questions upon the subject.” She walked 
on for some yards, paying no heed to Mrs. Dimsdale’s 
continuous prattle. Then she exclaimed suddenly : 
“ How odd you are, Aunt Elizabeth ! Why should you be 
so delighted at my having come into all this money? 
You do not profit by it — not necessarily, at least.” 

“ That remains to be seen,” struck in Deborah before 
her mother could reply. “ From what I know of you, 
Veronica, I should say that the very first use to which 
you would put your money would be to give some of it 
away to your friends.” 

Deborah was a thick-set, red-haired little person, 


THE PREACHER AND THE POET. 


29 


much given to good works, greatly beloved by the poor 
of the parish and notorious in her family for the inno- 
cent indiscretion of her utterances. She was upon the 
point of adding something about its being more blessed 
to give than to receive, when she herself received a 
doubtful blessing in the shape of a pinch in the fleshy 
part of the arm from her brother, which caused her to 
break into a short, sharp squeal. 

“Shut up, Deb!” growled Joe under his breath; 
and Deborah shut up with her accustomed docility, 
though she was unable to see what she had done to earn 
this discourteous command. 

Mrs. Dimsdale, who was in truth a most unselfish 
woman, was answering that she rejoiced in her niece’s 
good fortune just as she would have rejoiced in the 
good fortune of one of her daughters. “ And besides,” 
she added cheerfully, “we shall all come and stay with 
you at Broxham sometimes, if you will have us; and 

there will be the shooting for Joe, you know, and ” 

“ Oh, that ! ” interrupted Veronica, with a quick 
wave of her hand. “ But, Aunt Elizabeth, aren’t you at 
all sorry ? — not the least little bit ? ” 

“ Sorry, my dear ! ” ejaculated the good lady ; what 
do you mean? Now don’t, please don’t, say that you 
are ! That would be too perverse of you, and it would 
worry me all through the service, so that I shouldn’t be 
able to fix my mind upon my prayers.” 

Veronica, therefore, held her peace, and they all 
went into church. 

The Rector preached a very fine sermon that morn- 
3 


30 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


ing. It was not the one to which allusion has already 
been made, and which had been delivered on the pre- 
vious Sunday ; but it dealt with a kindred subject, and 
he had chosen for his text “ How hardly shall they that 
have riches enter into the kingdom of Heaven.” Ve- 
ronica, as she always did, listened attentively to her 
uncle’s discourse, every word of which seemed to apply 
so exactly to her own case that she was inclined every 
now and then to think he might have dealt a little more 
mercifully with her. He began by confessing frankly, 
on behalf of himself and humanity at large, that riches 
are what we all desire. As a matter of theory, we may 
be willing to admit that there are other good things — 
health, for example — which rank infinitely higher ; but 
as a matter of practice, at least nine-tenths of us devote 
our brains, our energies and the best part of our lives to 
the acquisition of wealth. When we acquire it, if we 
ever do acquire it, we probably find that it has not been 
worth all that trouble. But the Rector said that he did 
not, for the moment, wish to dwell upon that aspect of 
the question; what he wished to emphasise was the 
enormous power of. money and the consequent responsi- 
bility attaching to those who possessed it. To say that 
wealth rules the world was, he declared, a mere truism, 
and he proceeded to show how the peace of Europe was 
now in the keeping, not of Emperors, Kings, Chancel- 
lors or Parliaments, but of certain eminent financiers 
whom he did not name and of whom the majority of 
his hearers had most likely never heard. And what was 
true of the world was true, he urged, of all communities, 


THE PREACHER AND THE POET. 


31 


large and small. Whether we liked to acknowledge it 
or not, the fact remained that we all respected a rich 
man — respected him not for any talent or perseverance 
that he might have displayed in enriching himself, but 
simply and solely because he was rich, because he had 
houses, lands, horses, flowers and other luxuries which 
belong only to the few. We allowed him to dictate to 
us upon social matters ; we were gratified when he con- 
descended to seek our friendship ; we recognised him, 
in short, as our superior. “ And so, in actual truth, he 
is,” added the preacher. “ He can accomplish what it 
would be vain for us even to attempt; his power, for 
good or evil, is as much greater and wider than ours as 
the power of his Creator is greater and wider than his 
own ; isolated by reason of a power of which it is im- 
possible for him to divest himself, he learns— or fails to 
learn — the secret of that sadness which has ever been 
discernible upon the countenances of ‘those who bear 
rule and are obeyed.’ ” 

Then, of course, it was easy to point out how the 
rich man, between the horns of a dilemma, was a less 
enviable being than he might appear at first sight. 
Either he realised his position, realising at the same 
time that he must not look for much happiness in this 
world, or he did not realise it — in which case his pros- 
pects for the next could hardly be contemplated without 
a shudder. Mr. Dimsdale had eloquence and a vibrating, 
sympathetic voice ; he always conveyed the impression 
of being very much in earnest; when he had worked 
himself up to the requisite pitch of emotion, his subject 


32 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


commonly swept him off his legs, and the ideals he was 
wont to set up at such times were, perhaps, a shade too 
lofty for human attainment. At any rate, by the time 
that he had made an end of explaining what a rich man’s 
duties were, and how exceedingly unlikely any rich man 
was to fulfil them, one at least of his audience was dis- 
posed to add a fresh petition to the Litany — “ From 
battle, murder and sudden death, and from a sudden .ac- 
cession of fortune, good Lord deliver ns ! ” 

But the fresh air and the sunshine outside, together 
with the somewhat irreverent comments of the Rector’s 
only son, were not without a bracing effect upon Veron- 
ica’s flagging spirits. 

“ I regard that sermon as a gross outrage upon good 
taste,” Joe declared. “If he had told you in so many 
words that it was your bounden duty to restore the 
chancel and put a new roof on the church, he couldn’t 
have expressed his meaning more plainly. I am quite 
ashamed of him, and, in the unavoidable absence of the 
reverend gentleman, I beg to offer you a full apology. 
Personally, I may say that, while we congratulate you 
upon having succeeded to a pot of money, and are 
convinced that you will make a wise use of it, we wish 
to goodness it hadn’t been quite such a large pot. Be- 
cause, you see, we don’t want to lose you.” 

“Thank you, Joseph!” exclaimed Veronica grate- 
fully ; “ you always know how to say the right thing.” 

“I can when I like,” answered Joe, with quiet com- 
placency. 

“ And you really will miss me a little ? Aunt Eliza- 


THE PREACHER AND THE POET. 


33 


beth doesn’t seem to think that my departure will cause 
any perceptible blank in the household.” 

“ You know very well that you will be missed,” said 
Joe. “I wouldn’t be morbid if I were you. Take ex- 
ample by me. Ain’t I bearing up like a man, in spite 
of everything ? Not that I am going to stay on here 
without you. No, thanks ! I shall be off to Australia 
or the Cape or the Western States of America as soon 
as possible.” 

“You forget that you are going to be my land- 
a^ent,” observed Veronica, smiling. 

“ I am not sure that you will want one, my dear ; 
and, if you did, I should be hardly ready to accept the 
situation for a year or two. But let’s make the best of 
things. We shall meet again some day, when we are 
old and uninteresting, and ‘ when the glow of early 
thought has declined in feeling’s dull decay.’ That 
isn’t the sort of poetry that you admire, though — 
and, by Jove ! here comes the sort of poet whom 
you do admire. Farewell for the present — I’m 
off ! There isn’t room for me and him in one small 
meadow.” 

If Veronica admired the tall, spare, elderly gentle- 
man who was sauntering towards her along the river 
bank, and who removed his wideawake hat, disclosing a 
fine crop of curly, grizzled hair, on her approach, she 
was by no means alone in so doing. Cyril Mostyn’s 
niche in the Temple of Fame had been won many years 
before by the refined and scholarly verses which he 
continued to publish at rare intervals; as a critic he 


34 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


was perhaps even better known than as a poet, while his 
social pre-eminence was all the more an established fact 
because he had never taken the slightest trouble to earn 
or retain it. At the age of fifty, or thereabouts, he 
was still a singularly handsome man ; he knew every- 
body worth knowing, literary, scientific, political and 
fashionable, and when he occupied his comfortable 
bachelor quarters in London, he dined out every night 
of his life. Latterly, however, he had taken to spend- 
ing a great deal of his time at the rustic cottage on the 
banks of the Thames, which he had purchased chiefly 
with a view to escaping the importunities of his 
friends. 

“Have you been to church?” he inquired, in the 
low, mellow accents which were counted among his per- 
sonal attractions. 

Mr. Mostyn himself was parcus cultor et infrequens 
of established rites, having indeed written some rather 
cruel and incisive essays upon the subject of revealed 
religion ; still, he was to be seen every now and then in 
places of worship, and he had never publicly abjured 
Christianity. 

“ Yes,” answered Veronica, “ I have been to church ; 
but I don’t think I feel much the better for it. Uncle 
John has made me wretched by preaching a perfectly 
beautiful sermon to prove the impossibility of forcing a 
camel through the eye of a needle. And the worst of 
it is that, all of a sudden and through no fault of my 
own, I have become a camel ! ” 

“ So I hear,” Mr. Mostyn observed, smiling and 


THE PREACHER AND THE POET. 


35 


gazing at her. “ I should have congratulated you, only 
I felt quite sure that you would not want to be con- 
gratulated. Poor old Trevor! . . . and, still more, 
poor young Trevor! . . . and, most of all, perhaps, 
poor you ! ” 

“Oh, it is horrid ! ” exclaimed Veronica disconso- 
lately. “ What could have made him do it ! ” 

Mr. Mostyn shrugged his shoulders. “ Lack of self- 
control,” I suppose, he answered. “ The young man is 
not a religious young man, and it was discovered, I be- 
lieve, that he had been backing horses. Then there 
was a scene, and a will was made which would probably 
have been destroyed if there had been time. Authors 
are not the only people who sometimes put pen to paper 
unadvisedly.” 

“ The more I think of it all,” sighed Veronica, 
“ the more plainly I see that a dreadful injustice has 
been done, of which I have no business to take ad- 
vantage.” 

“ But there is no imaginable way in which you can 
avoid taking advantage of it.” 

Veronica laughed. “ Oh, yes,” she returned ; “ it is 
as simple as one of the hard cases in Vanity Fair. ‘A, 
a rustic maiden, inherits a large fortune from an aged 
relative whom she has never seen, and who has always 
treated B as his heir. B, a well-conducted young man, 
temporarily estranged from the old gentleman by some 
trifling difference, would doubtless have been reinstated, 
had the latter lived a few months longer. A is neither 
fitted for her new position nor anxious to occupy it. 


36 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


What is A to do ? Answer received, adjudged correct — 
Marry B.’ ” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Mostyn, smiling, “ that would solve 
a difficulty, no doubt. It only remains to obtain B’s 
assent to the arrangement.” 

“ And B is an unknown quantity.” 

“ Not to me ; I have met him several times in Lon- 
don. He is a nice-looking, nice-mannered young gen- 
tleman of the approved pattern, and would be quite 
willing to do anything that he was told, I should 
think, provided that it was not too unpleasant ; and it is 

obviously superfluous to add ” Here Mr. Mostyn 

spread out his hands and made a little bow. “ At the 
same time,” he resumed, “ nothing can be more certain 
than that, after you had lived with Mr. Horace Trevor 
for a few months, you would be arranging the terms of 
an amicable separation. Your husband, my dear Miss 
Dimsdale, will have to be a literary man ; that happens, 
fortunately or unfortunately, to be indispensable, and I 
should be very much surprised to hear that young Tre- 
vor had opened a single book, except a sporting novel or 
a ‘ Ruff’s Guide,’ since he left Oxford.” 

“ What is to be done, then ? ” asked Veronica. 

She was in the habit of asking Mr. Mostyn what was 
to be done whenever she stood in need of counsel ; for 
she had the highest opinion of his wisdom and she had 
been the recipient of many tokens of his good will. 
The advice that he gave her now, in answer to a more 
detailed statement of her perplexities than she had as yet 
vouchsafed to anybody, was certainly sound, so far as it 


THE PREACHER AND THE POET. 


37 


went. He urged her to do nothing in a hurry; he re- 
minded her that responsibility cannot be thrown off, 
like an extra blanket, simply because it is more comfort- 
able to get rid of it; and for immediate and practical 
questions he referred her to the lawyers. 

“ One does not want to be bothered about money,” 
he concluded; “ it is a nuisance to have too little of it 
and a nuisance to have too much. You must expect to 
be a good deal bothered for the next few months ; but 
after that, I hope, you will be able to turn your atten- 
tion to more important things again. Have you been 
stringing any more rhymes together?” 

“ Yes,” answered Veronica, laughing and colouring 
slightly ; “ but I am not going to show them to you. 
You only praise my rubbish because you wish to be kind 
and encouraging.” 

“ No,” Mr. Mostyn assured her gravely, “ I don’t do 
that. I never tell polite fibs upon the subject of art, 
which I take to be the one serious thing in this world 
of irony and farce and charlatanism. All that I have 
said to you is that your work shows great promise. 
Whether the promise will be fulfilled or not depends 
upon a variety of considerations — your sex and this 
necessary change in your social surroundings being, to 
my mind, very much against you. However, we shall 
see. One thing that I may be able to do for you now is 
to introduce you to men and women whose chief interest 
in life is literature. Rubbing up against them will do 
you good, even if you find them rather disappointing 
from the conversational point of view.” 


38 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


“ Oli, thank you,” exclaimed Veronica gratefully. 
“ I must go now, or I shall be late for dinner. I sup- 
pose rich people don’t have to dine early on Sundays, 
do they ? At any rate, I know Aunt J ulia doesn’t, and 
I know she is always at home on Sunday afternoons. If 
you should be in London on a Sunday some time, per- 
haps you would look in upon us.” 

The great man graciously promised to do so. It was 
pretty well understood among Mr. Mostyn’s fashionable 
friends that he did not expect to be invited to anything 
except dinners, and that his presence even at a dinner- 
party was a favour which demanded suitable acknowl- 
edgment; but Veronica Dimsdale was privileged. He 
had a sort of paternal affection for her, and allowed her 
to take liberties which children may take with their 
parents, literary and other. 


CHAPTER IV. 


VERONICA MAKES INQUIRIES. 

The Honourable Mrs. Mansfield was a well-preserved 
widow of between fifty and sixty, with whom life had 
gone as smoothly as she had permitted it to go. Abso- 
lute unbroken smoothness is, no doubt, repellent to 
human nature, as being far too monotonous and afford- 
ing none of those contrasts which enable us to deter- 
mine whether we are contented or the reverse at any 
given moment ; so this fortunate lady, who had neither 
husband, nor children, nor monetary worries, nor bad 
health to distress her, had felt bound during many years 
to seek out grounds of dissatisfaction for herself, though 
she had been sometimes hard put to it to discover them. 
Her brother Samuel, to do him justice, had always been 
ready to oblige any fellow-creature who might be suffer- 
ing from lack of causeless annoyance, and there had 
been frequent differences, attaining almost to the 
dignity of quarrels, between him and Mrs. Mansfield ; 
but now poor Samuel had departed for scenes where 
bickering is presumably unknown, and notwithstanding 
the comfortable little legacy of five thousand pounds 
which he had bequeathed to his “ beloved sister Julia,” 


40 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


the latter would have been inconsolable had he not dis- 
played the most considerate inconsideration by dispos- 
ing of the bulk of his property after a fashion which 
was enough to make any sensible woman wring her 
hands in despair. It really was rather hard, at her time 
of life, to be saddled with the care of a girl who was 
decidedly odd, probably wilful, and quite obviously un- 
fitted to stand alone. One must not shirk such duties, 
distasteful though they may be. One cannot turn one’s 
back upon one’s poor sister’s child. One must look for- 
ward, with such courage as can be mustered, to endless 
troubles and vexations. One must expect no thanks, 
and perhaps very little success ; one must endeavour 
not to think evil of the dead, and to assume charitably 
that Samuel, when he did a perfectly idiotic thing, was 
not altogether responsible for his actions. This was 
what Mrs. Mansfield was saying to herself as she sat 
before the fire in her pretty drawing-room in South 
Audley Street awaiting the advent of the niece whom 
she had summoned. She knew that Veronica was odd, 
because she had already had the girl to stay with her 
once — on that occasion when her well-meant attempt to 
effect a reconciliation between the uncle and niece had 
fallen through. She anticipated trouble, because — 
since it was evident that the heiress could not dispense 
with a chaperon — the finger of fate seemed to point un- 
mistakably towards the person upon whom that func- 
tion must devolve. And she was dreadfully distressed 
because poor Horace Trevor, whom she had always 
liked and tried to befriend, was left out in the cold, 


VERONICA MAKES INQUIRIES. 


41 


without, in reality, having done anything at all to de- 
serve such treatment. 

All this did not prevent her from warmly embracing 
the tall, sable-clad girl who was shown into the room 
just as it was becoming dark enough to ring for lamps. 

“My dear child!” she exclaimed, “I am so de- 
lighted to have you with me again! Come and sit 
down and have some tea; you must be perished with 
cold after your railway journey in this bitter wind !” 

Veronica surveyed the pretty old lady, whose hair 
was drawn up high above her forehead, whose diamonds 
flashed in the firelight, and whose slim fingers con- 
tinued to clasp her own after they had both seated 
themselves. She had not yet quite made up her mind 
whether she liked Mrs. Mansfield or not. Certainly, 
Aunt Julia had been kind, and had written her affec- 
tionate letters from time to time ; but her kindness had 
not been of the practical order displayed by the good 
people of Harbury Vale, nor was there any reason to 
suppose that the new order of things was welcome to a 
lady who had always seemed to acquiesce philosophically 
enough in the sentence of banishment pronounced upon 
the child of erring parents. 

“ Aren’t you disgusted ? ” she asked presently. 

“ Oh, not with you , dear ! ” Mrs. Mansfield replied, 
laughing a little. “ Of course, I do think it is rather a 
pity — as much for your sake as for anybody’s.” 

“ So do I, I am sure ! ” agreed Veronica. “ Still, we 
may perhaps hit upon some means of putting matters a 
little more straight than they are at present. I want 


42 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


you to tell me all about Mr. Horace Trevor ; you said in 
your letter that you would.” 

Mrs. Mansfield declined to do that upon the spur of 
the moment. She declared that neither she nor the 
injured Horace nor anybody else had ever dreamed of 
attaching the smallest blame to a palpably innocent 
supplanter, and that, upon the whole, it was a case of 
least said soonest mended. But later in the evening she 
was induced to become more communicative. Sitting 
in the drawing-room with her niece, after a little dinner 
which had been admirably cooked and served, and in 
the course of which she had felt moved towards a cer- 
tain sympathy of intercourse, she narrated the story of 
the difference that had proved so terribly expensive to 
the late Mr. Trevor’s reputed heir. 

“ It really was too ridiculous ! — the sort of thing that 
nobody in the world except Samuel would ever have 
wasted a second thought upon. As if all young men 
didn’t bet occasionally ! But you know what he was — 
or rather, perhaps, you don’t know. Next to Roman 
Catholics, I believe, he looked upon gamblers and what 
he used to call ‘ Sabbath-breakers ’ as being about the 
most hopelessly wicked beings on earth ; so when it 
transpired that Horace had been to the Grand Prix last 
year, and had, unfortunately, backed the horse that 
didn’t win into the bargain, there was a fine fuss. Of 
course, there had been rows before, and for my own part 
I didn’t expect that this one would have more serious 
consequences than the others, although, now that one 
comes to look back, it certainly did lead to a rather 


VERONICA MAKES INQUIRIES. 


43 


more prolonged estrangement. You see, Samuel, when 
he was put out, had a way of saying the most grossly 
insulting things in Christian phraseology ; and Horace, 
good-tempered as he is, was sometimes provoked to re- 
taliate. He tells me he did use the expression ‘ damned 
hypocrisy,’ which he ought not to have done ; still, I 
am bound to confess that I myself have more than once 
accused my brother of the same thing — minus the ad- 
jective.” 

Veronica broke into one. of her abrupt fits of laugh- 
ter, in which Mrs. Mansfield, after a moment of hesita- 
tion, joined. 

“Hot that it is any laughing matter for poor 
Horace,” the latter observed ruefully. 

“ What is he like? ” Veronica asked. 

“ Well, he is a nice, clean-looking little fellow, with 
short brown hair and grey eyes, and no moustache; 
there are dozens and dozens of them about. It seems to 
me that men weren’t turned out so exactly after the same 
pattern when I was young; but perhaps that is a fallacy.” 

“ I didn’t mean in appearance,” said Veronica. 

“ Oh, as far as character goes, I think he might be 
placed very near the top of his class ; though I don’t say 
that that is the very highest class of all. Personally, I 
have no particular love for immaculate youths ; I like 
them to be just a bit naughty, as long as they are gentle- 
men ; don’t you ? ” 

“I like them to be gentlemen,” answered Veronica, 
“ and I like them to be of some use in the world — or, at 
least, to try.” 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


44 


“ Well, my dear,” returned Mrs. Mansfield, a little 
sharply, “ Horace would have been of great use in the 
world if he had been allowed to become a country gen- 
tleman — which is what Nature intended him to be. So 
far, he really hasn’t had a chance. Samuel forced him 
to resign his commission in the 23rd Hussars because he 
said that cavalry officers were a godless crew ; then he 
kept him for several years kicking his heels about in Lon- 
don without any occupation; and now, at last, he cuts 
him off with a miserable legacy of ten thousand pounds, 
which, he says in his will, is equivalent to an allowance 
of five hundred pounds a year ; though everybody knows 
that four per cent, is the very outside that can be ob- 
tained upon reasonable security ! ” 

“ What could have made him put me in Mr. Horace 
Trevor’s place ? ” ejaculated Veronica, meditatively. 
“ Did he by any chance think that Nature had intended 
me to be a country gentleman ? ” 

“ My dear, I can’t tell you what he thought. He 
may have had some qualms of conscience about the way 
in which he treated your poor mother, or he may have 
nominated you simply because he was in a rage, and be- 
cause he couldn’t think of anybody else. Most likely 
he knew that if he left Broxham to me I should im- 
mediately hand the place over to Horace. But really, 
when one begins attempting to account for the ac- 
tions of such a man as Samuel was, the imagination 
reels ! ” 

Veronica nodded, and asked no more questions that 
evening. At breakfast the next day, however, she 


VERONICA MAKES INQUIRIES. 


45 


stated quietly that she was going to Lincoln’s Inn 
Fields to see Mr. Walton, as she had not quite made 
up her mind what to do about her inheritance. 

“ I don’t know that there is very much to be done 
about it, except to take possession of it when it is hand- 
ed over by the executors,” Mrs. Mansfield said; “and 
Mr. Walton will call here, if you write him a line. It 
would be more to the purpose to decide how and where 
you are to live in future.” 

“ But that will have to depend a good deal upon 
what Mr. Walton says. I think I had better go to his 
office ; I shall be more sure of securing his undivided 
attention there.” 

“When I was young,” observed Mrs. Mansfield — 
“ I am sorry to keep on using that phrase, but it is per- 
petually being forced upon me — it would have been 
considered most improper for a girl of your age to go 
off into the City all alone.” 

“ But it isn’t considered improper now.” 

“No, it isn’t considered improper now. In some 
ways you are curiously modern, Veronica; I noticed 
that when you were here before, and I can’t think how 
you arrived at modernity, living down in the depths of 
the country. Something in the general atmosphere of 
the age, I suppose. Well, if you never do anything 
worse than hunt up a musty old lawyer in his lair, I 
shall not feel entitled to remonstrate with you.” 

So presently Veronica was borne in a swift hansom 
to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where she was received by a 
tall, elderly gentleman, who at once set to work to ex- 
4 


46 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


plain the various provisions of his late client’s testa- 
ment. 

“ I am sure you have made it all most beautifully 
clear,” Veronica said, after several fruitless attempts to 
check the flow of his discourse, “ but what I more par- 
ticularly wanted to ask you was whether you know 
my uncle’s real motive for disinheriting Mr. Horace 
Trevor.” 

“ Well,” replied the lawyer, smiling; “I believe that 
he did not approve of young Mr. Trevor’s habits.” 

“But are’ young Mr. Trevor’s habits so very objec- 
tionable? I have heard nothing against him so far, ex- 
cept that he sometimes bets, and that he once went to 
the races on a Sunday.” 

“ As far as I am aware, you could not have heard 
much more than that against him. I have known 
Horace Trevor from his boyhood, and I should say that 
very few young men in his position could show so clean 
a record.” 

“ Then you agree with me that he has been abomi- 
nably ill-treated ? ” 

“ I would rather not express any opinion as to that, 
Miss Dimsdale. I think he has been exceedingly fool- 
ish, and I have often told him so. Knowing what Mr. 
Trevor’s religious views were, he ought to have had the 
common sense to abstain from running counter to them ; 
and he has nobody but himself to blame for what has 
happened. I say nothing about the payment of his 
debts; the amount was trifling on each occasion, and 
we all know that young men with expectations are apt 


VERONICA MAKES INQUIRIES. 


47 


to be thoughtless and extravagant. But why the deuce 
— why in the world, I mean — he must needs attend a 
race-meeting on a Sunday, when every other day of the 
week was open to him, passes my poor powers of com- 
prehension ! ” 

“ Oh, I like him all the better for that,” Veronica 
declared. “ If he didn’t think he was committing any 
sin by spending Sunday in that way, he was quite right 
to have the courage of his opinions. I only wanted to 
find out whether there was the slightest excuse for his 
having been deprived of his inheritance. As it is, I 
shall probably restore it to him. I suppose that can be 
done quite legally ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! you can legally dispose of your property 
in any way that you may think fit,” answered Mr. Wal- 
ton, looking rather amused. 

“ Then perhaps you will kindly undertake the busi- 
ness for me when the time comes. I cannot give you 
positive instructions just yet, because I don’t think I 
ought to act in a hurry, and, in any case, I think I 
should be justified in keeping part of the money for 
myself. I believe my uncle meant to leave me some- 
thing, and I have quite decided to retain a certain 
amount — ten thousand pounds would be enough, I 
should think— in order that I may help out a young 
cousin of mine, who has failed for the Army, and whom 
we propose to send now to a gentleman farmer to study 
agriculture, so that he may be qualified for a land- 
agency some day. That, of course, will entail expense ; 
and I have other claims upon me besides.” 


48 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


“ I see,” answered the lawyer gravely. “ Ten thou- 
sand pounds is a good deal of money ; still, you might, 
under all the circumstances, assume that your uncle 
intended to bequeath as much to you. Your purpose, 
then, as I understand, is to hand over the residue of 
the personalty and the whole of the real property to 
Horace Trevor ? ” 

“ I believe that is what I ought to do ; but, as I tell 
you, I cannot speak quite positively to-day.” 

“ I hope,” said Mr. Walton, “you will excuse me for 
remarking that you are the most extraordinarily unsel- 
fish person I have ever met during a tolerably long 
experience of my fellow men and women.” 

“ I can quite understand your thinking so,” an- 
swered Veronica ; “ but the truth is that I have no 
wish at all to be rich. It might be my duty to give up 
the property to Mr. Horace Trevor, even if I wanted to 
retain it ; but, as a matter of fact, I don’t, ft would be 
far more of a burden than a satisfaction to me.” 

“ Such as it is, my dear young lady, I am afraid you 
will have to make the best of it,” the lawyer returned, 
with a short laugh. “ The wishes of the testator can 
hardly be set aside with propriety simply because they 
do not happen to accord with your own. Moreover, 
there is another small obstacle which you seem to have 
overlooked : you have still to reckon with Horace 
Trevor.” 

“ You think perhaps that he would not accept the 
property as a gift from me ? ” 

“I don’t think about the matter; I am perfectly 


VERONICA MAKES INQUIRIES. 


49 


sure that he would not. And I may add that no gentle- 
man would or qould do so.” 

“ I don’t see that at all,” said Veronica. “ It is a 
simple question of putting wrong right, and he must 
know that it is. As for the testator’s wishes, it is 
absurd to imagine that he ever meant that will to stand. 
By tearing it up I am only doing what he would have 
done if he had lived a little longer.” 

“Unfortunately, there is no method of ascertaining 
that. Meanwhile, the property is not yours to deal 
with ; so that you will have time for reflection.” 

He rose as he spoke — meaning, perhaps, to convey a 
hint that his time was of value — and held out his hand. 
“ I am sure, Miss Dimsdale,” he said, smiling, “ that a 
little reflection will convince you of the impossibility of 
carrying out your present idea. You will have to hit 
upon some more feasible scheme for impoverishing 
yourself.” 

Veronica went away with an uneasy impression that 
she had made a fool of herself, and had seemed anxious 
to earn a character for unselfishness upon very easy and 
inexpensive terms. Nevertheless, the lawyer had not 
convinced her. She still felt that she must not profit 
by an accident, and that Horace Trevor must, somehow 
or other, be reinstated in his rightful position. The 
only question was how this was to be contrived, in the 
face of conventional prejudices the cogency of which 
could not but be acknowledged. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE INJURED INNOCENT. 

Veronica returned to South Audley Street in time 
for luncheon, and found a smart, military-looking old 
gentleman in a tightly buttoned frock-coat seated with 
her aunt. This was Mrs. Mansfield’s brother-in-law, 
Lord Chippenham, who had succeeded to the family 
title and estates somewhat late in life, after rising to 
the rank of Lieutenant General and achieving a suffi- 
ciency of renown in sundry of those small Avars which 
afford opportunity to the modern British soldier. He 
Avas now sixty-five years of age, and looked a good ten 
years younger, being blessed with a fine constitution, a 
cheerful temper, and a set of features which had once 
upon a time worked havoc with the hearts of suscep- 
tible ladies. EA r en in his grey old age he continued to 
be very fond of the society of the opposite sex, prefer- 
ring the young and pretty ones to those whose faces 
showed signs of Avear and tear, but displaying the most 
amiable politeness to all. He shook hands with Veron- 
ica, and began calling her “ my dear ” at once. 

“ I am one of your poor uncle’s executors, you 
know,” he announced, “ and I hear you have just been 

( 50 ) 


THE INJURED INNOCENT. 


51 


seeing the other. I was upon the point of saying I 
wished I was one of your trustees, but th^t would have 
been hardly true, for it’s no joke, upon my word, to be 
a trustee ! In my opinion, trustees ought to have been 
appointed, all the same. Well, well ! let us hope that 
it will be all right. And how did you get on with old 
Walton? Found him rather a formal, cut-and-dried 
old chap, I daresay.” 

u No ; I don’t think I noticed that he was that,” an- 
swered Veronica, upon whom Mr. Walton’s personality 
had not produced a very strong impression one way or 
the other. “ But he snubbed me a good deal.” 

“ You don’t say so ! Well, my dear, I’ll promise not 
to snub you, though I’m afraid I shall have to refer you 
to Mr. Walton upon all matters of business, which he 
understands much better than I do. Most likely the 
truth is that he wasn’t half pleased about your uncle’s 
will, and that may have made him a little short in his 
manner.” 

“ He cannot be more displeased with it than I am,” 
said Veronica disconsolately. “ Did you ever before 
meet with the case of a person who had been enriched 
against her will, and who would give a good deal to re- 
suscitate the man who had enriched her for the sake of 
arguing the point with him ? ” 

Lord Chippenham really couldn’t say that he had, 
and seemed to be a little sceptical as to whether he was 
in the presence of such a case now. “ You’ll come to 
it,” he declared encouragingly, with a subdued chuckle. 
“ There are worse misfortunes than having more money 


52 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


than you know what to do with. As for argument, I 
suspect that if you could call my poor old friend Tre- 
vor back from his grave for that purpose, you would 
soon wish you had left him alone. You might argue 
with him till you were black in the face and you 
wouldn’t convince him that he could possibly make a 
mistake. Argument was his strong point— or, at least, 
assertion was. I have never known Trevor’s equal for 
.dogged, persistent assertion.” 

“ If he was capable of asserting that it was wise, or 
even reasonable, to leave an estate to me, he was capa- 
ble of asserting anything ! ” Veronica exclaimed. 

“ He was,” agreed Mrs. Mansfield, with melancholy 
conviction ; “ there can be no doubt that Samuel was 
capable of asserting anything and everything. Also 
the contrary of everything.” 

Lord Chippenham enjoyed his luncheon, as well as 
the conversation of the girl whom he had expected 
to be an uninteresting country bumpkin. Both were 
excellent of their kind, and both had that spice of 
originality which is so welcome to a man who is getting 
on in life and has seen and tasted most things. What 
tickled his fancy about Veronica was not so much her 
professed reluctance to become a rich woman (in which 
he scarcely believed) as the direct simplicity of her 
speech and her evident disinclination to accept advice 
from anybody. It was clear that, whatever might hap- 
pen, she would take her own line and stick to it, regard- 
less of the prejudices or reproofs of those about her, 
and this struck Lord Chippenham — who, it must be 


THE INJURED INNOCENT. 


53 


remembered, was no longer young — as a new departure 
in feminine eccentricity. However, if she was not 
eager for advice, she was very keen about acquiring in- 
formation, and after luncheon was over, she returned 
unceremoniously to the dining-room, where he had 
been told he might smoke a cigarette, for the purpose 
of putting a few questions to him in the absence of an 
embarrassing third person. 

“ Oh, dear ! yes,” answered the old gentleman, in 
reply to the firs^ and most important of these. “ Known 
him ever since he was a young subaltern ; and a very 
smart young subaltern he was, too ! — as fine a young 
fellow as ever stepped, I should say. Though his best 
friends — and he has any number of friends, let me tell 
you — would hardly pretend that he was likely to set the 
Thames on fire. But there’s no satisfying some people. 
As for poor old Trevor, he was the kind of man who 
would have picked a quarrel with a stone wall. He 
would have quarrelled with me years and years ago, 
only I wouldn’t let him ; and you may depend upon it, 
my dear, that he would have quarrelled with you if you 
hadn’t had the great good luck never to see his face.” 

“One always hears things too late!” sighed Ve- 
ronica. “ I would not have failed to force myself upon 
him if I had had the slightest suspicion that he enter- 
tained a misplaced affection for me. I suppose he is 
very angry and disappointed — Mr. Horace Trevor, I 
mean.” 

“ Horace Trevor,” answered Lord Chippenham, “ is 
the best-tempered man in the world. Disappointed he 


54 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


may be — who wouldn’t be in his place ? — but I doubt 
whether he is angry.” 

“I think,” observed Veronica, “that I may very 
likely hand the Broxham estate over to him. It ought 
unquestionably to be his.” 

“ Oh, you can’t do that,” said the old gentleman, 
laughing. 

“ You mean that he would consider such an offer an 
insult?” 

“Well, yes; it would be an insult. ^ Moreover, the 
property without the money would be rather a white 
elephant. A hundred thousand pounds sounds like a 
large sum; but I can assure you, my dear, that you 
won’t find it so much as you may think. Poor Trevor 
was a wealthy man once; but he muddled away his 
money upon Church missions and Eitualist prosecutions 
and one thing and another, and land, as I dare say you 
know, is an expensive luxury in these days. I am by no 
means sure that I should care to take Broxham as a 
gift myself. However, that is neither here nor there. 
You and I may have our own opinion as to your uncle’s 
wisdom and justice, but what has been done can’t be 
undone. We must accommodate ourselves to circum- 
stances, that’s all.” 

Perhaps the same notion may have suggested itself 
at the same moment to both malcontents ; for their eyes 
met, and they broke into a simultaneous laugh. The 
one method of pleasing everybody and undoing what 
had been done was so ludicrously apparent ! They did 
not, of course, carry indiscretion to the length of put- 


THE INJURED INNOCENT. 


55 


ting their thoughts into words ; but Lord Chippenham 
presently departed in so cheerful and benevolent a frame 
of mind that, instead of making for the military club 
where he was wont to enjoy an afternoon rubber of 
whist, he turned in at another and somewhat smarter 
establishment, and inquired for Mr. Horace Trevor. 

He was soon greeted by a young man, dressed in 
deep mourning, whose appearance corresponded so ex- 
actly with the succinct description of it given to Ve- 
ronica by Mrs. Mansfield that it is needless to say any- 
thing more about him except that he had a remarkably 
pleasant smile. 

“ Still in London, General ? ” this injured but by no 
means despondent-looking individual said. 

“ Where else should I be ? ” returned Lord Chippen- 
ham. “ If you know any better place than London to 
be in at this impossible season of the year, you would do 
me a favour by letting me hear where it is. Besides, 
I’ve had matters of business to attend to. Come into 
the smoking-room ; I want to talk to you.” 

And when he had ensconced himself in a comfort- 
able arm-chair, he resumed : “ Well, my dear boy, I have 
been lunching with Julia, and I have seen the heiress. 
All things considered, I think we may certainly con- 
gratulate ourselves. Strictly speaking, she isn’t exactly 
what I should call a beauty ; but she is quite a lady, 
and she looks distinguished — yes, distinguished is de- 
cidedly the word. Clever, too, I should imagine from 
the way that she talks, and quick at seeing things. In 
short, I’m convinced that she’ll do.” 


56 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“Oh, well— that’s all right,” responded the young 
man vaguely. “ I am glad she is presentable, though it 
doesn’t make much odds to me what she is like.” 

“ My dear fellow, it makes all the odds in the world 
to you seeing that she is your future bride.” 

“ The deuce she is ! ” ejaculated the future bride- 
groom, staring blankly at his elderly mentor. “Who 
on earth told you that, General ? ” 

“ Come now, Horace, don’t pretend that you have 
never thought of such a thing ! It occurred to me as 
soon as I heard the will read, and so it did to Julia. 
Also, I suspect, to the young lady herself, who, I may 
tell you, is full of remorse for having cut you out.” 

“ Oh, but that was no fault of hers,” returned 
Horace hastily, “ and I’m sure it never entered into my 
head to blame her in any way. I do trust you and 
Aunt Julia haven’t been telling her that she ought to 
make amends by marrying me out of hand ! ” 

“ Do you set us down as born fools ? ” asked Lord 
Chippenham. “We aren’t advocating indecent haste or 
anything of that sort ; only we have the common-sense 
to see that the very best thing that could happen would 
be for you two to take a fancy to one another. And 
there’s no reason that I know of why you shouldn’t. 
Anyhow, you had better go round to South Audley 
Street and judge for yourself. Your Aunt Julia was 
complaining that you never go to see her now.” 

Horace Trevor had always been accustomed to ad- 
dress Mrs. Mansfield as “ Aunt Julia,” although in 
reality she was no more his aunt than the defunct 


THE INJURED INNOCENT. 


57 


philanthropist who had for so many years posed as his 
benefactor had been his uncle. He had a genuine re- 
gaid for her and a grateful recollection of the frequent 
occasions on which she had undertaken to make his 
peace with her exacting brother. If he had been some- 
what remiss about paying his respects to her of late, 
this was because he did not wish to listen to lamenta- 
tions over what could not now be helped. He had, of 
course, behaved like a fool ; he had not been as con- 
ciliatory as he might have been ; he had argued when it 
would have been just as easy, and a great deal more 
sensible, to remain silent ; he had not chosen to clear 
himself from imputations for which there had been 
very little real ground. But all that was over and done 
with, and what was the good of grumbling? Horace 
Trevor had always been of opinion that a man ought to 
preserve his independence ; he had acted in accordance 
with his convictions (for he did not think that the pay- 
ment of a few trifling debts by his uncle constituted 
any surrender of them) and he had been charged a 
heavier price than he had anticipated for the privilege. 
It only remained for him to grin and bear it, and, hav- 
ing an ample stock of good humour to draw upon, he 
had accomplished both feats creditably enough. It cer- 
tainly had not occurred to him that his misfortune was 
in any way remediable ; still less had he contemplated 
rendering the late Mr. Trevor’s will of none effect by 
the simple expedient of espousing Miss Veronica I)ims- 
dale. 

He felt no inclination to do so now — in fact he was 


58 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


quite determined not to do so ; but Lord Chippenham’s 
remarks had stimulated his curiosity a little, and he 
thought he would rather like to see the girl. He also 
thought that he would like to have an opportunity of 
making it clear to her that he was neither jealous nor 
covetous. He could well understand that the poor girl 
might be troubled with scruples, and he had no diffi- 
culty in realising how Aunt J ulia, with the best inten- 
tions in the world, would foster and encourage these. 
He pictured Veronica to himself as a simple little 
maiden, prone to be influenced by the suggestions of her 
elders, and liable to be made unhappy by their dis- 
pleasure. Now, one does not, if one is a good fellow in 
the main, want an unoffending girl to be made un- 
happy, even though she has stepped into a pair of shoes 
which were constructed for one’s own feet, and were likely 
to prove a trifle too large for her to wear with com- 
fort. 

On the following afternoon, therefore, Mr. Horace 
went his way to South Audley Street, prepared to be 
very nice and friendly and to make everybody comfort- 
able. He was very far from being a conceited young 
man ; but he did flatter himself that he had the knack 
of setting people at their ease, and he had every excuse 
for so believing. As a matter of fact he had pleasant 
manners, and, being fond of his fellow-creatures, was 
universally beloved by them. Even old Mr. Trevor had 
probably loved him, while sternly disapproving of him. 
At all events, there could be no question as to the senti- 
ments entertained for him by Mrs. Mansfield, who 


THE INJURED INNOCENT. 


59 


jumped up when he was shown into her drawing-room, 
and greeted him with effusion. 

“ My dear boy,” she exclaimed, “ this is good of you ! 
You know that Veronica Dimsdale is here? . . . staying 
in the house, at least. She isn’t at home just now, I am 
sorry to say, which is most unfortunate. I wanted you 
so much to see her ! ” 

“Well, I called to see you, you know,” Horace re- 
marked, with partial truth. 

“ Then all that I can say is that you have called to 
see a deeply disgusted old woman. I can’t get over it, 
Horace. ... I really can’t! . . . and if we were not 
assured that purgatory is a fond thing, vainly invented, 
I should feel far from confident as to poor Samuel’s 
state.” 

“ Oh, you’ll get over it,” said Horace cheerfully ; “ I 
have already. Now let’s hear about the heiress; the 
General was praising her up to the skies yesterday.” 

Mrs. Mansfield might have been imprudent enough 
to imitate Lord Chippenham in that respect if she had 
not detected a half-amused, half-apprehensive look in 
Horace’s grey eyes which warned her against a too 
speedy betrayal of her schemes. As it was, she only 
said, “ Oh ! Veronica is charming. Not quite your 
style, perhaps ; still, charming in her own way. I don’t 
suppose it will be very long before some good man re- 
lieves me of all further responsibility for her.” 

“ I don’t suppose it will. Broxham is worthy of the 
attention of good men — not to mention bad ones.” 

“ Ah ! but I mean she will be married for her own 


60 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


sake. Tastes differ, you know. Of course, as I say, 
she isn’t the sort of girl whom you would be likely to 
admire.” 

“ I admire all sorts,” declared Horace, who was not 
in the least taken in by this rather transparent diplo- 
macy; what makes you think that I shouldn’t appreciate 
your Veronica? I thought you were so anxious for me 
to meet her.” 

“■ So I am,” answered Mrs. Mansfield ; “ and so is 
she, poor thing ! For naturally she cannot help feeling 
that you owe her a grudge, and she wants to be assured 
that you don’t. I only meant to say that she is not at 
all like the class of young women with whom you are in 
the habit of flirting. The chances, I am afraid, are that 
you won’t hit it off with her.” 

A few leading questions extorted from Mrs. Mans- 
field the confession that she herself had not as yet been 
brilliantly successful in hitting it off with her niece, 
whom she pronounced to be an incomprehensible mix- 
ture of docility and self-will. 

“ She has evidently been very well educated, but I 
doubt whether she has been very well brought up. She 
seems to have been accustomed to take her own way as 
a matter of course, and she won’t discuss things. She 
either yields or she doesn’t. More often than not, I 
suspect, she doesn’t. When I told her that it wasn’t 
quite the proper thing for her to go to the National 
Gallery this afternoon all by herself she wanted to know 
why. I said she might be insulted ; but she declared 
that she really couldn’t believe that, and off she went 


THE INJURED INNOCENT. 


61 


without more ado. Yet it stands to reason that she 
may be insulted.” 

“ Oh, I expect she’ll be all right,” said Horace easily. 
“ I have never been in the National Gallery myself, so I 
don’t know what sort of people frequent that place of 
amusement ; but I should imagine that they would be a 
highly respectable lot. Besides, I understand that she 
doesn’t shine conspicuously in the matter of personal 
beauty.” 

Mrs. Mansfield said rather crossly that that wasn’t 
the question. “ I suppose the General has been telling 
you that she is plain : he calls everybody plain who 
hasn’t a little mouth, and big eyes, and a perfectly 
meaningless cast of countenance, like the beauties of 
his boyhood. Times have changed since then, and, 
unless I am very much mistaken, Veronica will have as 
many admirers as she can possibly want before she is 
much older.” 

The problem was to arouse Horace’s interest and 
predispose him in Veronica’s favour, without hinting at 
the possibility of his doing anything so eminently satis- 
factory as to fall in love with her. Mrs. Mansfield, 
more judicious than her fellow-conspirator, was alive to 
all the risks attendant upon plain speech, and when, on 
the expiration of half an hour, the young man, after 
glancing at his watch, said he must be off, she did not 
feel able to congratulate herself upon having advanced 
far towards the attainment of her purpose. 

But in truth she had been more successful than she 
supposed ; and the proof of this was that when Horace 


62 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


Trevor left South Audley Street, he bent his steps un- 
hesitatingly in the direction of Trafalgar Square. He 
said to himself that really, when you came to think of 
it, it was a scandalous thing never to have been inside 
the National Gallery ; and he also said to himself that it 
would be rather amusing to try and discover which of 
the dowdy females whom he expected to encounter 
there was Miss Veronica Dimsdale. 

He was not, however, destined to increase his very 
scanty acquaintance with the pictorial art that day ; for 
he reached his destination only in time to find that the 
doors were about to be closed and that everybody was 
coming out. He lingered for a few minutes at the 
entrance, watching the people as they emerged, and* 
presently his eye fell upon a tall young lady in black, 
who, he at once made up his mind, must be no other 
than his fair supplanter. All doubt as to her identity 
was removed when, after looking about her in obvious 
perplexity, she addressed the attendant constable. 

“ I can’t remember w r hether I ought to turn to 
the right or the left,” she said, in a clear contralto 
voice. 

“ What address, M’m ? ” the policeman inquired. 

“ That’s just the stupid part of it ! — the name has 
gone out of my head. It’s South Something Street — 
Mrs. Mansfield’s. But I suppose you wouldn’t know 
who Mrs. Mansfield is.” 

The policeman admitted his ignorance, and sug- 
gested reference to a Post-Office Directory, which, he 
said, would probably be obtainable at any neighbouring 


THE INJURED INNOCENT. 


63 


shop ; but at this juncture Horace judged it appropri- 
ate and permissible to intervene. 

“ I think you must be Miss Dimsdale, are you not?” 
he said, stepping forward and taking off his hat. “ I 
have just come from your aunt’s house in South Audley 
Street, and I shall be very glad to show you the way 
there, unless you would rather that I called a hansom 
for you. My name is Trevor ; you have heard of me, 
I know.” 

The girl did not seem to be in the least shy or awk- 
ward. He noticed that, just as he had noticed already 
that her voice and manner bore the stamp of good 
breeding, and he was very much pleased when she 
held out her hand and exclaimed with a smile : “ What 
a lucky chance ! You are the very person whom I 
most particularly wanted to see. I wonder w r hether 
you would mind walking part of the way home with 
me?” 

He made the only reply that could have been made, 
but his sincerity in making it was so unmistakable that 
Veronica felt drawn towards him at once. Indeed, 
there were not many people who did not take a liking 
to Horace Trevor at first sight. So these two paced 
along Pall Mall East, side by side, and the policeman, 
gazing benevolently after them, remarked to the door- 
keeper that they made what he should call a ’andsome 
couple. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A FRIENDLY COMPACT. 

“I am sure,” Veronica began, “you must heartily 
wish I had never been born. Don’t trouble about pro- 
testing, for if I were you I should certainly feel just as 
you do ; only I think you must admit that I am not in 
any way answerable for what has happened.” 

“ Of course you’re not,” the young man declared. 

“ That is really my sole consolation. As I never 
even saw my uncle, and only once in my life had a sort 
of indirect message from him, I can’t be accused of 
having exercised undue influence. I have always 
understood and always believed that he hated me for 
my mother’s sake. I attached no importance to that 
message, which came through Aunt Julia, and which 
was to the effect that I should get something when he 
died. In fact, it seems to be tolerably certain that at 
the time he only meant to leave me a small legacy. 
Oh, if he had but dropped down dead there and then 
how much better it would have been ! ” 

“ You aren’t over and above grateful for benefits 
received,” remarked Horace, with an amused side- 
glance at his companion. 


( 64 ) 


A FRIENDLY COMPACT. 


65 


“ I have nothing to be grateful for. My benefactor 
threw me what he couldn’t take away with him, not be- 
cause I was myself but because I wasn’t you. He has 
placed me in a most uncomfortable and embarrassing 
position, and it appears to me that he hasn’t been even 
commonly honest. I suppose it was quite an understood 
thing that you were to succeed him, was it not ? ” 

“ Oh, dear, no ! ” answered the young man. “ I cer- 
tainly expected that he would make me his heir, and so 
did everybody else ; but I can’t say that he ever com- 
mitted himself to a distinct promise. On the contrary, 
he threatened scores of times to cut me adrift if 1 didn’t 
mend my ways.” 

“ Were your ways so very bad, then ?” Veronica in- 
quired. 

“ Upon my word I don’t think they were ; but they 
weren’t his ways, and so we had perpetual rows. I’m 
bound to confess that I wasn’t very respectful to him ; 
he used to talk such — well, he’s dead now, and perhaps 
it wasn’t really humbug. But it sounded uncommonly 
like it.” 

“ He objected to your betting, I suppose.” 

“ Oh, he objected to everything ; you couldn’t please 
him, and it wasn’t much use to try. My own belief is 
that if I had joined the Salvation Army or become a 
total abstainer, he would have found something to ob- 
ject to in that.” 

“ I daresay,” observed Veronica reflectively, “ you 
wouldn’t tell me if he had had some more serious ground 
of complaint against you than I know of. Of course, I 


66 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


couldn’t expect you to tell me. And yet it seems almost 
necessary that I should ascertain, by some means or 
other.” 

“I don’t quite understand,” said the young man, 
opening his grey eyes rather wide. 

“ And it is so difficult to explain ! Perhaps you 
wouldn’t mind just answering me in general terms if I 
asked you what sort of a life you have led — whether it 
has been what is commonly called a fast life, for in- 
stance ? ” 

Well, this was rather an odd question for a young 
lady to put, and although Horace was not offended, it 
made him feel unwontedly shy. Who is to know what 
young ladies understand by “ fast ” ? 

“ You need not,” Veronica went on, by way of set- 
ting him more at his ease, “ feel afraid of shocking me. 
Girls know many more things than they are supposed to 
know, and I have read a good deal, and I am neither 
deaf nor blind, in spite of having lived all my life in a 
country parish. I don’t want to catechise you ; I only 
want, if I possibly can, to account for my uncle’s con- 
duct.” 

“ I am afraid it would puzzle you to do that without 
having known him,” Horace answered, laughing. “ All 
I can tell you is that he was the queerest-tempered man 
I ever came across. Nothing that he did ever surprised 
me, and I wasn’t at all surprised when I heard that he 
had altered his will after our last scene. However, I 
may say with a clear conscience that the worst offence I 
ever committed, in his eyes, was going to the races on a 


A FRIENDLY COMPACT. 


67 


Sunday. I don’t claim to have been a saint; but I 
haven’t any reason to accuse myself of dissipation or 
hard drinking, or anything of that sort. In fact, I 
should think you could see for yourself by looking at me 
that I haven’t.” 

Veronica, without concerning herself in the slightest 
degree about the circumstance that they were walking 
down Pall Mall in broad daylight, and were attracting 
a certain amount of notice on the part of the passers-by, 
scrutinised his healthy, honest countenance and smiled 
at him.” 

“ Thank you,” she returned ; “ it is very good of you 
to have answered me so frankly, and I quite believe 
what you say. One can only conclude, then, that my 
uncle was a sort of religious maniac, and that he ought 
to have been deprived of the management of his own 
affairs. After all, the way in which he treated my father 
and mother supports that theory. At the same time, I 
must own that I myself have rather a prejudice against 
men who are neither particularly bad nor particularly 
good — men whose only object in life is to amuse them- 
selves, and who never dream it is any business of 
theirs to leave the world a little better than they 
found it.” 

“ Meaning me ? ” Horace Trevor inquired. 

“Ah! I don’t know. I might mean you. That’s 
just the question. I need hardly tell you that what I 
should like to do would be to transfer this Broxham 
estate to you without delay ; but, you see, it is rather an 
important step to take. I think, perhaps, I ought to 


68 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


satisfy myself first that you would try to make as good 
a use as you could of the property.” 

Horace burst out laughing. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said, perceiving that she 
was a little affronted. “ I ought to be ashamed of my- 
self for being so rude, and I am really grateful to you 
for your generous intention. Only, you know, the 
thing couldn’t be done. In the first place, I couldn’t 
rob you of your property; and in the second place, a 
will which was made with the deliberate purpose of 
cutting me out of it couldn’t be annulled.” 

“ I shouldn’t feel the smallest compunction on that 
score,” Veronica declared. “We agreed that the man 
was not sane enough to make a will at all.” 

“Well, you said so; I don’t remember agreeing 
with you. Uncle Samuel was quite as sane as most of 
us, I expect. Please don’t bother yourself any more 
about the matter. It’s awfully kind of you to have 
thought about me at all, and I’m very glad we have 
met. I don’t see why we shouldn’t be friends, do you ? ” 

“ I should like nothing better than to be a friend of 
yours,” was Veronica’s satisfactory response. She added 
meditatively, after a moment, “ In some ways you re- 
mind me a good deal of Joseph.” 

“I often remind myself of him,” the young man 
replied gravely. “ That is, if you allude to the Patri- 
arch.” 

Veronica broke into one of her abrupt laughs. “I 
was alluding to my young cousin, Joe Dimsdale,” she 
said. “ He is very unlike you in appearance, because 


A FRIENDLY COMPACT. 


69 


he has red hair, and he has never dressed smartly, or 
wanted to dress smartly, in his life ; but I think you 
would get on together all the same. You are fond of 
hunting and shooting, I presume.” 

“I am very fond of hunting,” Horace answered. 
“ Of course I do shoot, but I can’t pretend to be much 
of a shot. However, nothing in the shape of sport 
comes amiss to me.” 

“ Nor it does to him. Personally, I rather disapprove 
of sport, though I know you would justify it by the 
same arguments that he uses.” 

Like George III., who, in his simplicity, had never 
supposed that the Bible stood in need of an Apology, 
Horace Trevor had not until now thought of seeking 
any justification for pursuits which have received the 
sanction and approval of centuries. More in sorrow 
than in anger he said he did hope Miss Dimsdale was 
not a Radical. “ I haven’t met a great many Radical 
women,” he admitted, “ but those whom I have come 
across have been more than enough for me. Awful 
beings, with their hair cut short or parted on one side, 
who made speeches from platforms and wanted to re- 
peal-well, pretty well everything ! I am sure you can’t 
belong to that hideous crew ! ” 

Veronica replied that she did not at present con- 
template making any change in the arrangement of her 
hair, but that she was endeavouring to bring an un- 
prejudiced mind to bear upon all subjects. As she 
marched up St. James’s Street she was proceeding to 
unfold, with considerable emphasis and appropriate 


70 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


gesticulation, the reasons that she had for doubting 
whether the slaughter of innumerable grouse and pheas- 
ants is an ennobling form for dexterity to take, when 
the approach of a tall, elderly gentleman, with a badly 
brushed hat and an exquisite Marshal Niel rose in his 
buttonhole, caused her to interrupt her harangue. 

“Oh, here is Mr. Mostyn ! How delightful!” she 
exclaimed, holding out her hand to the newcomer, who 
greeted her in an affectionate, fatherly fashion, and 
nodded to her companion. 

“ I have only just run up for a couple of days,” Mr. 
Mostyn announced ; “ please don’t tell anybody that 
you have seen me.” 

There were a few people (and Horace Trevor chanced 
to be -one of them) who thought that the great man’s 
terror of being run after was just a trifle exaggerated, 
and that, in any case, there was no need for him to 
proclaim it quite so persistently as he did. But Veron- 
ica, knowing how great Cyril Mostyn really was, always 
took him with the utmost seriousness. 

“ I suppose we ought not to keep you standing on 
the pavement, where you are visible from the windows 
of all these clubs,” she said anxiously. “ Are you very 
busy, or could you, do you think, find time to look in at 
South Audley Street before you go back to the country ? ” 

Mostyn smiled and shook his head. “ I am afraid I 
can’t manage it,” he answered ; “ to tell you the truth, 
I have every single hour engaged. Still, I might stay 
an additional hour or two in London if I were very 
particularly wanted. Am I ? ” 


A FRIENDLY COMPACT. 


71 


Veronica, after biting her lip reflectively, felt unable 
to assert that he was. What he meant, of course, was 
that he would be willing to give her his opinion of 
Horace Trevor. But she would not upset his plans 
upon so frivolous a pretext as that, and* after all, he 
probably knew nothing more about the young man 
than she herself did by this time. That reminded her 
of Horace’s presence, which she had forgotten for the 
moment, and she said : “ Oh ! by-the-way, you have met 
Mr. Trevor already, haven’t you ? ” 

The two men made the customary inarticulate mur- 
mur, and exchanged a few remarks referring to common 
acquaintances ; after which there did not seem to be any 
special reason for prolonging the interview. 

“ I shall tell your uncle and aunt that I have seen 
you and that you are looking remarkably well,” Mostyn 
said, as he took leave of Veronica. Then he added 
laughingly, in an undertone, “ Don’t be too hasty about 
solving that Hard Case in the manner that you sug- 
gested ; such solutions are much more apt to result in 
blanks than prizes.” 

When Veronica and her escort had resumed their 
walk, the latter asked in a dissatisfied tone, “ Do you 
like that chap ? ” 

“Oh, you certainly do resemble Joseph!” Veronica 
exclaimed ; “ he has asked me the very same question in 
the very same voice again and again. Yes, I like Mr. 
Mostyn very much, and I admire him even more than I 
like him. So would you, if you had read his writings.” 

“I have read some of them,” Horace said; “they 


72 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


were a bit over my head, I suppose, for I must confess 
that I found them rather tough work. I have no doubt 
he is a genius, though. Only don’t you think he is a 
little too conceited about it ? ” 

“Most certainly not,” declared Veronica. “You 
can’t be conceited when you are as big as that ; vanity 
is one of the defects that belong to little people.” 

“Well, perhaps it isn’t conceit then; perhaps there’s 
some other name for the complaint when it attacks peo- 
ple of his size. But, whatever it may be, he has got it, 
and I can’t help thinking that he would be improved 
by being cured of it. What did he mean by the ‘ hard 
case ’ which he was so anxious to dissuade you from 
solving ? ” 

“ I have a great mind to tell you,” answered Veron- 
ica. “Yes, I don’t see why I shouldn’t; it may help 
us to be comfortable and friendly together if I do. He 
was only referring to a mild joke that I made just be- 
fore I left home. I said my dilemma was very much 
like one of those which are published every week in 
Vanity Fair , and that the obvious way for the embar- 
rassed young woman to make amends to the ill-treated 
young man whom she ousted was to marry him. There 
is no harm in my mentioning this now ; because, after 
talking to you, I feel quite certain that you will never 
wish to marry me, and though I like what I have 
seen of you very much, I am just as certain that 
I shall never wish to marry you. I shouldn’t won- 
der if other people were to try to arrange a match 
between us ” 


A FRIENDLY COMPACT. 73 

“ Oh, they will,” interrupted the young man ; “ they 
have begun already.” 

“ I suspected as much, and really one can’t blame 
them. But from the moment that we have made up 
our minds not to oblige them they won’t be able to give 
us any annoyance worth speaking of. I hope you don’t 
mind my talking like this. You were saying just now 
that you wanted to be friends with me, and I want 
above all things to be friends with you. In the ab- 
sence of some mutual understanding and compact, that 
might be made difficult for us, you see.” 

Horace laughed and answered, “ All right.” His 
acquiescence was a shade less cordial than it might have 
been, had he been less unequivocally informed that Miss 
Dimsdale could not regard him as a possible husband. 
Certainly, he had no ambition to become her husband, 
while her proffered friendship was welcome to him ; but 
it is a part of the inborn perversity of human nature 
that we resent having our disabilities thrust upon our 
notice, however palpable they may be. 

“And now that that is settled,” resumed Veronica 
cheerfully, “ let us discuss the question of the Broxham 
estate in an amicable, sensible spirit. Lord Chippen- 
ham says that the estate without the money would not 
be worth having ; but ” 

“ Oh, bother Lord Chippenham ! ” broke in Horace 
impatiently. “ He may say what he pleases ; but he 
knows as well as I do that it is absurd to talk about 
your resigning your inheritance. Please believe, once 
for all, that nothing — absolutely nothing on earth — 


74 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


would induce me to accept an acre of land or a shilling 
of money from you.” 

“Well, you needn’t lose your temper over it,” said 
Veronica reprovingly. 

Horace declared that he had not lost his temper — 
never lost his temper. At the same time, he must de- 
cline to be bullied ; and the last words he spoke to his 
companion, after leading her to Mrs. Mansfield’s thresh- 
old, were : “Now mind, if we are going to be friends, 
there is just one subject which we must agree to avoid 
for the future.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


DOLLY CRADOCK. 

Mrs. Mansfield was delighted to hear that her 
ni^ce had already made acquaintance with Horace Tre- 
vor, and even more delighted when the circumstances 
under which the acquaintance had been formed were 
related to her. 

“ What in the world could have taken Horace to the 
National Gallery, of all places!” she ejaculated. 

“ I don’t know ; I quite forgot to inquire,” answered 
Verotiica. “ Now that you mention it, I suppose it was 
rather an improbable spot for a man of his tastes to be 
discovered in ; though, to be sure, he was not in the 
building itself. He was standing on the steps outside 
with a policeman and a number of others.” 

Mrs. Mansfield smiled and abstained from further 
interrogation. Without being an especially pious wom- 
an, she firmly believed in the constant intervention of 
an overruling Providence, and it seemed to her that 
Providence had taken the matter in hand. 

Most providential also did it appear to her that 
from that day forth Veronica showed every disposition 
to be reasonable and tractable. At the outset there had 

( 75 ) 


76 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


been no sort of certainty that the girl would prove so ; 
she had declined to discuss further arrangements, had 
spoken as though the question of her taking up her 
residence at Broxham were too remote to be worth con- 
sidering, and had generally conveyed the impression 
that she meant to do just exactly what she might think 
fit — a tone which no girl with a properly qualified du- 
enna ought to assume. But now, as Mrs. Mansfield 
was very glad to be able to inform Lord Chippenham, 
there were distinct signs of a change for the better. 

“ Everything is working out much more satisfac- 
torily than one could have ventured to hope,” she told 
her brother-in-law, about a week later. “ It has been 
decided that I am to go down to Broxham with Ve- 
ronica in the autumn, by which time, Mr. Walton says, 
she can take formal possession of the place ; meanwhile, 
she is to stay on here as long as she likes. And I must 
say for her that she is not at all difficult to entertain. 
Perhaps I ought not to let her go about by herself quite 
as much as she does; but nowadays that sort of thing 
is the fashion, and it isn’t as if there were the slightest 
fear of her coming to grief in any way.” 

“ And what about our young friend Horace, who has 
already come to grief a good deal more than he has 
deserved?” inquired Lord Chippenham. “ Is there any 
nope of his redeeming former false steps ? ” 

“ The very greatest hope, I should say,” answered 
Mrs. Mansfield complacently. “ He drops in, upon one 
pretext or another, almost every day, and Veronica and 
he talk together as if they had known one another all 


DOLLY CRADOCK. 


77 

their lives. Oh, yes ! I believe he is really smitten — 
though, between ourselves, I hardly expected such luck. 
Delightful as she is, and fond as I am of her, I can’t 
call dear Veronica exactly pretty ; and beauty — as you 
know as Well as anyone — remains the one thing that 
men insist upon in women.” 

The experienced warrior chuckled and said, “ Oh ! 
we ain’t so particular as all that ; we can put up with 
trifling physical imperfections, if we are properly man- 
aged. Especially when it’s a question of marriage, and 
when the lady has a substantial property of her own. 
Besides, I call Miss Veronica an exceedingly nice-look- 
ing girl myself.” 

Horace Trevor, as it happened, entertained a simi- 
lar opinion, although Mrs. Mansfield would have been 
grievously disappointed if he had explained to her how 
it was that he came to be upon such excellent terms 
with her niece. He certainly could not and would not 
have paid such frequent visits to the house in South 
Audley Street, had there been a possibility of his mo- 
tives being misconstrued by one of the ladies who dwelt 
there. As for the other, it was both agreeable and con- 
venient to put her off the scent. 

“ I can’t be thankful enough to you,” he was pleased 
to tell Veronica, on one occasion, “ for having taken the 
bull by the horns and said you would see me jolly well 
hanged before you would think of marrying me. If 
you hadn’t done that, I should always have been afraid 
that you might suspect me of wanting to make up to 
you.” 


6 


78 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ Oh, I shouldn’t have suspected you ! ” returned 
Veronica, laughing. “You are not the sort of per- 
son about whom one could ever have suspicions — they 
would be certainties one way or the other. I doubt 
whether you have it in you to deceive an intelligent 
child of five years old.” 

“Oh, well, come! I’m deceiving Aunt Julia and 
the General, at all events,” protested Horace, rather re- 
senting this charge of obvious integrity. 

But in truth he was about as honest and simple a 
young man as could have been found in England, and 
that was one reason why Veronica had conceived a 
strong liking for him. The more she saw and heard of 
him (and she kept her eyes and ears open) the more she 
became convinced that his prospects had been marred 
without legitimate excuse, and that he must, by some 
means or other, be reinstated in the position which was 
his of right. How this was to be contrived she could 
not yet determine ; for she had reluctantly come to the 
conclusion that her original idea of retiring in his 
favour without more ado would have to be abandoned. 
She herself saw no reason why he should not accept a 
property that she did not want; but the objection to 
such a course appeared to be so cogent in his and every- 
body else’s eyes that any further attempt to combat 
them would be a sheer waste of time. What she vaguely 
hoped for was that at some future date the transfer 
might be effected with less difficulty. All sorts of 
things might happen. She might, for instance, marry 
some rich man, who would not care about being bur- 


DOLLY CRADOCK. 


79 


dened with an additional estate, and in that case, what 
could be more natural than that she should pass it on to 
her cousin? For she had already, by Horace’s request 
and with Aunt Julia’s approval, begun to speak of the 
young man as her cousin and to address him by his 
Christian name. 

In those days — felt by her to be a sort of transition 
period, during which there was nothing to be done but 
to await the progress of events — Veronica found life 
pleasant enough. Although, in consequence of her 
recent bereavement, Mrs. Mansfield was declining all in- 
vitations, she did not deem herself precluded from re- 
ceiving her friends, of whom she had a vast number : 
and it seemed to Veronica, who was accustomed to a 
very different method of existence, that there was a per- 
petual stream of people entering or leaving the house 
in South Audley Street. Many of these were politically 
or otherwise notorious. It was interesting to watch 
them, to listen to their talk, and to note how extremely 
ordinary were the ideas to which they thought fit to 
give expression. Statesmen, fine ladies, artists, musi- 
cians — all these were to be met with in Mrs. Mansfield’s 
drawing-room or at her dinner-table ; and Veronica, 
with a strong curiosity respecting the interminable 
Human Comedy, and considerable natural aptitude for 
discerning its lights and shades, enjoyed scrutinising 
them and trying to discover what they were really like 
when off the stage. Moreover, if Aunt Julia’s friends 
were not conversationally brilliant, or did not care to 
show themselves so, they had singularly pleasant, easy 


80 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


manners. They did not look half bewildered, half of- 
fended if you chanced to tell them what was in yonr 
mind at the moment, as the dwellers around Harbury 
Vale had been wont to do ; their mental horizon was 
evidently less restricted than that which encircles 
country neighbourhoods ; added to which, they were 
exceedingly kind and anxious to do all in their power 
to amuse a raw rustic. The truth, no doubt, was that 
Veronica herself was amusing, besides being an heiress; 
so that it would have been strange if she had not 
achieved popularity. As a fact, many people took a 
more or less disinterested fancy to her, and were glad to 
afford her opportunities for enlarging her knowledge of 
contemporary social developments. 

But of all her acquaintances she liked Horace Tre- 
vor far the best. Now that they understood one an- 
other (or, at all events, understood one another with 
regard to one essential point), their intercourse as- 
sumed a character which was in every way agreeable, 
and even stimulating. That is to say, that Veronica 
endeavoured to make her society stimulating to Hor- 
ace, because she thought that he rather required a 
touch of the spur, and she found him a most docile 
disciple. 

“ Clever I shall never be,” he confessed modestly one 
day, “ and I’m not sure that I always agree with every- 
thing that you say; but I’m quite sure that you are 
quite right in telling me that I ought to improve my 
mind, and I do read regularly every night now after I 
go to bed, until I fall asleep.” 


DOLLY CRADOCK. 


81 


“ And how long is that, upon an average ? ” Veronica 
inquired. 

“Well, it depends a little upon the author, but I’m 
getting on. I know quite a lot of things now which I 
should never have troubled my head about if you hadn’t 
put me on the track.” 

“ Any seeds of personal ambition beginning to ger- 
minate yet ? ” 

“ H’m ! not many, I’m afraid. But I’m ready to 
admit that I have wasted my life hitherto, and I would 
try to do something more useful with it for the future if 
I only knew how.” 

How, indeed, was he to render his future life useful 
to the community at large or of any great value to him- 
self ? An ex-cavalry officer, who is too old to take up a 
new profession, and wffio has just money enough to live 
without a profession, is scarcely a promising subject. 
But Veronica’s fixed idea was that he was to become a 
landed proprietor some day, and after that it would be 
comparatively plain sailing. For the time being, there 
was much satisfaction to be derived from the influence 
which she unquestionably exercised over this well-mean- 
ing young man, while it was at once a pleasure and a 
convenience to have his escort to theatres and other 
places of public entertainment. 

“ I don’t think we show any disrespect to poor Sam- 
uel’s memory by going to a theatre sometimes,” Mrs. 
Mansfield said. “ It is true that he wouldn’t have ap- 
proved of it, but then what would he have approved 
of?” 


82 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


Not, it must be assumed, of a match between the 
disinherited Horace and the enriched Veronica; and, 
since Mrs. Mansfield’s object in going to the play was to 
foster that scheme, she reflected that she might as well 
be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. At the bottom of her 
heart she was old-fashioned enough to entertain some 
misgivings as to the propriety of showing herself at a 
burlesque or a comic opera within so short a time of her 
brother’s death, but she told her conscience that the end 
justified the means. 

What vexed her a good deal more than her con- 
science — a fairly well-trained one — was likely to do was 
the conviction which forced itself upon her one evening 
that she had adopted an unfortunate means of arriving 
at her end. 

She was sitting, as usual, in the background of a 
box, the more conspicuous seats of which were occupied 
by Horace and Veronica, when the door was abruptly 
flung open to give admittance to a young lady in a 
sable-trimmed opera-cloak, who accosted her with the 
engaging sans-gene characteristic of a moribund cen- 
tury. 

“ How are you, Mrs. Mansfield? I saw you from the 
other side of the house, and I thought I would look you 
up between the acts.” 

“How do you do?” returned Mrs. Mansfield, in a 
tone of annoyed resignation. “ I don’t know how you 
could have seen me ; but I suppose you mean that you 
saw Horace.” 

The new-comer laughed. “ Well, yes,” she answered, 


DOLLY CRADOCK. 


83 


as she seated herself ; “ I divined you. “ It wasn’t to be 
imagined that he could be at a theatre with a young 
person of unquestionable respectability and without his 
aunt. The young person is the heiress, I presume ? ” 

She did not trouble herself to lower her voice, which 
was of a clear and rather hard quality. Both Veronica 
and Horace looked round, and the latter at once rose, 
holding out his hand. 

“ Have you come up for the season, Miss Cradock ? ” 
he inquired. 

The lady addressed nodded. “ Awfully sorry to hear 
of your sell,” she was kind enough to say ; “ but I always 
warned you of what would happen if you didn’t look 
out. What a duffer you were to let that old curmudgeon 
quarrel with you ! ” 

Dolly Cradock prided herself upon her disregard of 
conventional usages. Most of us find it necessary to our 
comfort to pride ourselves upon gifts which we either 
'do not possess or should be a great deal better without. 
This tall, well set-up, and somewhat muscular-looking 
girl, who had a fine figure, a clear complexion, an abun- 
dance of bronze-coloured hair, and a set of features to 
which not much exception could be taken, save that her 
jaw was rather too heavy for beauty, might have rested 
satisfied with what Nature and circumstances had done 
for her. Only in that case she would have been ordi- 
nary, and it must be assumed that she did not desire to 
be ordinary. 

Horace, uncomfortably conscious of Veronica’s vi- 
cinity, answered hurriedly, “ Oh, that’s all right. May 


84 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


I introduce you to my cousin, Miss Dimsdale — Miss 
Cradock.” 

“ Didn’t know Miss Dimsdale was your cousin,” the 
irrepressible Dolly remarked, stretching out a tan-gloved 
hand to Veronica; “I always understood that you were 
one of those thrice-blessed mortals who have absolutely 
no surviving relations. Mrs. Mansfield don’t count, be- 
cause she is only your aunt by courtesy, and that doesn’t 
give her the right to be discourteous, like some people’s 
aunts. I wish all mine were in Abraham’s bosom, I 
know ! ” 

“ My dear girl ! ” remonstrated Mrs. Mansfield. 

But Miss Dolly was not in the habit of paying heed 
to remonstrances. She now proceeded to monopolise 
the conversation, criticising the first act of the play 
which they had witnessed in a spirit of candid impar- 
tiality, and displaying incidentally a remarkable ac- 
quaintance with the private lives of certain actresses 
concerned therein, until the entrance of Lord Chip- 
penham created a diversion. 

This left her free to devote her whole attention to 
young Trevor, to whom she said : “ Well, and how are 
you ? Bearing up pretty well ? ” 

“ Oh, I’m bearing up,” answered Horace. “ I say, I 
wish you wouldn’t mind being a little bit particular 
about what remarks you make before Miss Dimsdale. 
She’s— she’s ” 

“ An ingenue ? I shouldn’t have supposed so to 
look at her ; she strikes lhe as being uncommonly self- 
possessed. Upon the whole, I rather like her looks, and 


DOLLY CRADOCK. 


I think I will cultivate her acquaintance. Just go 
round to the Framptons, who brought me here, and 
tell them I shall not be back until after the next act, 
will you ? You can keep my place for me.” 

Horace obeyed not very willingly ; for he knew that 
Dolly Cradock sometimes said outrageous things, and 
he had of late began to form entirely new ideas upon 
the subject of what constitutes feminine attractiveness. 
But he had no need to be alarmed. Miss Cradock could 
suit herself to her company when she chose, and Ve- 
ronica was almost as much pleased as amused by the 
frank speech of this fresh acquaintance. Dolly put 
a number of questions, obtained the information for 
which she asked, and gave in return a rapid and per- 
fectly truthful sketch of herself and her belongings. 

“ Poor as church mice, and over head and ears in 
debt,” said she. “ But somehow or other we manage to 
hang on from year to year and keep more or less in the 
swim. How it’s done I’m sure I can’t tell you, but it 
is done. As for me, I am beginning my third season of 
anxious looking out for the rich man who ought to have 
married me, and who hasn’t turned up yet. Your 
cousin, as you are pleased to call him, would have done 
very nicely, but, of course, he is out of the question, 
now, poor fellow ! ” added Dolly, with a sigh. 

“ You can’t make me feel more apologetic or more 
ashamed of myself than I do already,” Veronica re- 
marked. 

“ Oh, I don’t suppose you owe him any apology — 
though I must say I envy you your good luck. Im- 


<56 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


agine waking up one fine morning to discover that one 
was wealthy and entirely independent ! If I were in 
your shoes, nothing on earth should ever induce me to 
marry.” 

“Very likely I never shall,” answered Veronica; 
“ but as for being independent, that seems to be scarce- 
ly possible. I can’t live alone.” 

“ Why not? Who is to prevent you, from the mo- 
ment that you are of age ? All that you have to do is 
simply to declare your intention of pleasing yourself, 
and then let them rave. I sometimes adopt that sys- 
tem, even though I’m not independent, and I find it 
answer very fairly well. Still, for the present, you are 
not so badly off in being chaperoned by Mrs. Mans- 
field, who is an old dear. Mrs. Mansfield, I was just 
saying to your niece that you are an old dear.” 

The recipient of this graceful compliment did not 
look precisely enchanted ; but Lord Chippenham, who 
thought Miss Dolly great fun, bent forward, laughing, 
to ask, “ And what am I, please ? ” 

“ Oh ! you’re another ; everybody knows that,” the 
young lady answered. “ Only you wouldn’t he any use 
as a chaperon ; you are much too frisky and flighty for 
such a position.” 

She went on chattering through the next act, to 
which she paid no attention whatever, and when Horace 
reappeared to conduct her back to her friends, she not 
only took him away with her, but retained him for the 
rest of the evening. This behaviour it was which so ex- 
asperated Mrs. Mansfield that she could not help ejacu- 


DOLLY CRADOCK. 


87 


lating, while she and her niece were being driven home- 
wards : “ That girl grows more and more vulgar every 
day ! And she has no business to he, for she is a gentle- 
woman by birth.” 

“ She promised to come and see me when she could 
find time,’’ Veronica remarked. “ There is something 
about her that I like. It is a pity that she puts on that 
manner.” 

“It isn’t put on; she has never had any other 
manner that I can remember. Although, as I 
say, she becomes more objectionable as she becomes 
older.” 

“ Horace did not seem to object to her,” Veronica 
observed, after a pause. “ Was there ever anything be- 
tween them ? ” 

“ Oh, dear , no ! ” answered Mrs. Mansfield, with un- 
necessary emphasis, “ nothing beyond a mere flirtation, 
such as he has had with dozens of others. His going off 
with her as he did to-night was entirely her doing, not 
his. And I always think that men who have had plenty 
of flirtations make the steadiest husbands. It is so 
much better that they should go through what has to 
be gone through in that way before than after mar- 
riage ! ” 

“ I daresay it is,” agreed Veronica, laughing a little 
to herself in her corner of the brougham. 

She was wondering whether Miss Dolly Cradock 
might not turn out to be a valuable ally. That that 
young woman would scruple to accept a wedding-gift of 
a fine estate did not appear likely, and if (as a slight 


88 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


change in the expression of her face when she began to 
talk about Horace had seemed to hint) she was really 
attached to him, and he to her, an arrangement satisfac- 
tory to all parties might yet be arrived at. This, how- 
ever, was of course only a pleasing vision. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


COMPLICATIONS. 

Miss Cradock did not lose much time about re- 
deeming her promise to call in South Audley Street. 
She walked in, dressed in a riding-habit, one morning 
while Veronica was busy over the voluminous weekly 
epistle to which the denizens of Harbury Vale Rectory 
looked forward, and announced that she had come to 
lunch. 

“ It occurred to me all of a sudden in the Park,” she 
explained, “ that I would rather feed with you than with 
my own people, who are in a ruffled condition to-day 
owing to some row with our best tenant, who says he 
can’t pay his quarter’s rent ; so I sent my old gee home 
and here I am.” 

“I am so sorry that Aunt Julia has gone to spend 
the day with an old friend at Hampton Court Palace,” 
answered Veronica. “ Can you stand a tete-a-tete lunch- 
eon with me?” 

“ The very thing I should like of all others,” Dolly 
declared. “ Mrs. Mansfield is a nice old woman, and I 
am very fond of her — much more so than she is of me — 
but on the present occasion I am quite clear that I pre- 
fer her room to her company.” 

( 89 ) 


90 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


And in fact it soon became evident that Miss Cradock 
would not have been nearly as interesting or as enter- 
taining as she was in the presence of an elderly third 
person. During luncheon and afterwards she talked in- 
cessantly, and if her talk was for the most part purely 
egotistical, that was no drawback to it in the estimation 
of her hearer, who asked nothing better than to obtain 
some insight into the character of the potential Mrs. 
Horace Trevor. Many ladies, no doubt, would have 
been bored to death by Dolly Cradock ; for loud, slangy 
girls, though less common than they used to be, are still 
common enough, and the type has ceased to be amus- 
ing; but for Veronica it had the advantage of novelty. 
Besides which, she had made up her mind to like Dolly. 

“ I have been thinking,” she remarked, “ after listen- 
ing with some wonderment to a vivid description of cer- 
tain riotous proceedings at a country house in which the 
narrator had recently played a prominent part, “ that 
perhaps you might be persuaded to come down and stay 
with me at Broxham, when we go there in the autumn- 
I am afraid I can’t promise that you shall meet people 
who will throw tables and chairs at your head, because I 
don’t know any people of that kind, and probably Aunt 
Julia’s friends have more sedate habits ; but you might 
give us a trial. Horace says he will come as soon as 
there are birds to be shot.” 

“ You may expect me,” was the decisive and satis- 
factory reply, “ and I won’t do anything to make you or 
your guests sit up. One can’t play the fool without as- 
sistance, and I’m sure I should get notfe from Mr. Tre- 


COMPLICATIONS. 


91 


vor, who seems to have turned over a new leaf under 
your tuition. He has a tremendous respect for you, 
you know.” 

Veronica laughed. “In what way has he turned 
over a new leaf?” she asked. “ Were the past pages of 
his life such very bad reading ? ” 

u Oh, no ; he has always kept pretty straight, I be- 
lieve. Only he used to be a cheery sort of fellow and 
ready for any fun that was going. In a perpetual funk 
of that canting old uncle of his, though. And then to 
think of his having fallen out with the] old hypocrite 
and lost everything, after all ! Doesn’t it just show 
what idiots men are ? ” 

“Well, it shows that some men are very simple and 
honest,” answered Veronica. “I like Horace all the 
better for not having been too subservient, don’t you ? ” 
“ No, I certainly don’t,” Dolly returned. “ I see no 
sense in cutting off your nose to spite your face ; I call 
that a very weak thing to do. However, he has been 
sufficiently punished in all conscience, poor fellow ! ” 
These last words were spoken so ruefully, and the 
drooped corners of Dolly’s mouth seemed to intimate in 
so unequivocal a manner that punishment had not 
fallen upon Horace Trevor alone, that Veronica was 
strongly tempted to make reassuring propositions there 
and then. But she refrained. She was weary of talk- 
ing about surrendering Broxham and being laughed at 
for her pains ; if the thing was to be done at all, it 
must evidently be done after some slower and more dip- 
lomatic fashion. So she only remarked, “Well, the 


92 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


least I can do is to serve him a good turn, if I ever get 
the chance.” 

“ I daresay he will give you the chance,” observed 
Dolly, rather drily. 

“ Oh, I don’t mean in that way,” said Veronica, re- 
plying to a speech which had not been made, “ that ar- 
rangement can never come off, because we are both of 
us opposed to it. But there are other ways in which I 
may be able to help him when the time comes, if he is 
not too proud to accept my assistance.” 

“ there ? I can’t imagine what they can be. 
If he were a woman he might accept a big cheque — I 
should, I know? and say thank you for it — but men 
aren’t allowed to do such things.” 

With this statement of Miss Dolly’s personal amena- 
bility, Veronica had to rest satisfied ; for now the dia- 
logue was interrupted by the entrance of a visitor, who, 
it appeared, had insisted upon coming upstairs, not- 
withstanding Mrs. Mansfield’s absence from home. 

“ I thought I might venture to ask for you,” Mr. 
Mostyn explained, smiling pleasantly upon his young 
friend ; “ it is so seldom that I have an hour to spare, 
and I undertook to bring you the latest reports from 
Berkshire.” 

Veronica said what was polite and veracious, was 
duly informed that there was no particular informa- 
tion to be given respecting her relatives, and then in- 
troduced the great man to Miss Cradock. That the 
great man should never have heard of Miss Cradock be- 
fore was, of course, not surprising; but it gave Veron- 


COMPLICATIONS. 


93 


ica something of a shock to notice that the mention of 
her distinguished visitor’s name elicited no further 
homage from Dolly than a blank stare and a slight bow. 

“ Mr. Cyril Mostyn,” she could not help repeating 
under her breath, thinking that she might have been 
imperfectly heard. 

“ Yes : I know,” answered Dolly, in a loud voice. 
And then, turning to the light of modern English lit- 
erature : “ Write a bit, don’t you ? ” she asked. 

“ I must confess to having written a bit,” Mr. 
Mostyn replied, much amused. “ There are even mo- 
ments when I am afraid that I have written a bit too 
much.” 

“ Ah ! I daresay. It must be a horrid grind, I 
should think.” 

“ I often find it so,” Mr. Mostyn admitted. 

“ Still, if you make money by it, it’s worth doing, I 
suppose. I have sometimes thought of writing a sport- 
ing novel myself; sporting novels pay well, they tell 
me. But you don’t go in for that sort of thing, do 
you?” 

“ No,” answered the poet and critic, “ I don’t go in 
for that sort of thing. I am sorry to say that I don’t 
possess the requisite knowledge.” 

“You don’t look as if you did,” Miss Cradock re- 
marked candidly. “Well, I must be off, Veronica, dear 
— may I call you Veronica, by the way? I want a 
hansom.” 

She departed presently, after taking an affectionate 

leave of her hostess, whom she led as far as the door, 
7 


94 A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 

with voluble assurances that she would come again 
soon. 

Veronica felt bound to offer some apologies for her 
friend ; but Mr. Mostyn did not seem to have been at 
all affronted. 

“ You think me a hero,” he remarked, “ because I 
have climbed to the top of the tree in a calling which 
you happen to admire ; but the huntsman of the Quorn, 
whose name has probably never reached your ears, is an 
infinitely more important personage in the eyes of that 
young lady. And why not? I can do some things 
which he cannot do, but it is equally certain that he is 
my master in others.” 

“You might say the same of a chimney-sweep,” ob- 
served Veronica. 

“And in circles where chimney-sweeping is looked 
upon as a fine art I should hardly be accused of mock 
modesty. But I did not come here to talk about my- 
self ; I came to talk about you — or, rather, to ask ques- 
tions about you. Do you know that it seriously alarmed 
me to see you walking in the street alone with young 
Trevor? All the more so because, when I mentioned 
the circumstance to your aunt Mrs. Dimsdale, she at 
once jumped to conclusions which she seemed to think 
a subject for congratulation. Your other aunt will 
naturally hold the same views ; so that, unless you are 
prepared to stand very firm indeed, you may soon drift 
into a situation which I shudder to contemplate.” 

“ There is no fear of that,” answered Veronica. “I 
like Horace Trevor extremely, but I could no more 


COMPLICATIONS. 


95 


think of marrying him than of marrying the Pope, and 
I am glad to say that he feels just in the same way 
about me. We talked it over the very day when we 
met you.” 

Mr. Mostyn raised his eyebrows and laughed. “ It 
must be admitted that, for a poetess, you are an exceed- 
ingly practical person,” said he. 

“ I only wish I were,” sighed Veronica ; “ that is if 
a practical person means a person who knows how to 
put her wishes into practice. And don’t call me a 
poetess, please ; it hurts my feelings.” 

“ The dictionary,” returned Mr. Mostyn, “ defines a 
poetess as a female poet, and a poet as one who has 
written a poem. I am ready to maintain in the face of 
the world that you have written a poem, and the fact 
that I recommended you to burn it is neither here nor 
there. We versifiers have at least one point in common 
with the phoenix, that if we ever rise to immortality at 
all, it is probably upon the ashes of our former selves 
that we do it.” 

“ I shall never rise to immortality — nor even to noto- 
riety — nor even to publication,” said Veronica. “You 
know that quite well.” 

Mr. Mostyn smiled indulgently. “ No,” he an- 
swered, “ I don’t know that. I am a little afraid of it 
I own, because, as I think I told you once before, riches 
are a terrible obstacle in the way of literary success. 
Your friend is quite right; we work for money, and if 
we didn’t require money we should do very little 
work.” 


96 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“You will never make me believe that your poems 
were written for sordid reasons,” Veronica declared. 

“ Not altogether ; but I should certainly have writ- 
ten more of them if they had proved more remunera- 
tive. As it is, I write more prose than I ought to do 
just because I find prose remunerative. After all, there 
are but two inducements to undertake the labour of 
composition — ambition and the necessity of earning 
one’s daily bread in one way or another. The first is 
very soon satisfied ; the other is almost sure to remain 
as a wholesome stimulus to literary men of small in- 
come until the end of their lives. Because I doubt 
whether even the authors of sporting novels ever realise 
sums large enough to be worth investing. For you, 
therefore, the question is one of ambition, pure and 
simple, and it will not take you long to discover that a 
woman with a large fortune may make herself famous 
by easier and speedier methods than by publishing a 
volume of poems.” 

“ I have not the slightest desire to be famous,” said 
Veronica, impatiently; “I don’t wish to waste my life, 
that is all. What have I done that you should deluge 
me with cold water in this way ? ” 

“You have committed the almost unpardonable of- 
fence of being exceptionally lucky,” Mr. Mostyn re- 
plied, laughing. “You really must not grudge your 
friends the small consolation of pointing out to you 
that your position has its drawbacks as well as its ad- 
vantages. But so long as you abstain from the fatal 
step of espousing your so-called cousin, I shall not de- 


COMPLICATIONS. 


97 


spair of you. Now, may I see what you have been 
scribbling since you came to London? For I know 
you must have been scribbling a little.” 

She had, in fact, been scribbling a little, and she was 
presently persuaded to submit her crude efforts to the 
scrutiny of a competent judge, who did not deal over- 
mercifully with them. He was, however, both kindly 
and straightforward — as, to do him justice, he always 
was, when treating of such subjects — and she had no 
reason to doubt his word when he assured her that she 
had made progress. 

“You will make yourself heard of yet,” he declared, 
“ always supposing that you continue to think it worth 
your while to do so. And, between ourselves, it is 
worth while to do anything well, whether a reward in 
the shape of coin or celebrity is forthcoming or no.” 

That was more like the language that Veronica 
wished to hear ; but when she reverted to the topic of 
her burdensome wealth and her anxiety to shake it off 
her shoulders, Mr. Mostyn had very little comfort to 
offer her. It was evident that he had no great faith in 
the sincerity of such murmurs ; he could not be brought 
to treat her grievance seriously, and when he went 
away, he left a somewhat dissatisfied disciple behind 
him. 

Later in the afternoon Horace dropped in, and was 
pleased to accept a cup of tea. He had just returned 
from Sandown, where he had had a very successful day, 
he announced. 

“ I thought,” said Veronica, in reproachful accents, 


98 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ that you were going to abjure betting. You can’t af- 
ford it, you know.” 

“Well, that depends,” answered the young man 
good-humouredly. “ I can’t comfortably afford to lose, 
it is true ; but I can do very well with a few wins, and 
I feel quite like a capitalist this evening.” 

Veronica shook her head. “You might have felt 
like a bankrupt, I daresay,” she rejoined. “ You would 
have done much better to stay in London and come to 
luncheon here. You would have met Miss Cradock if 
you had.” 

Horace looked slightly uneasy. “ Did you invite her 
or did she invite herself ? ” he inquired. 

“ I believe she invited herself ; but I was very glad 
to see her, and I hope to see more of her.” 

“ She really is a good sort,” Horace said half apolo- 
getically; “though you might not think so at first. 
Did she allude to current reports about us?” 

“ About whom ? What reports do you mean ? ” 

“ Oh, I only thought she might have chaffed you ; 
she is no respecter of persons, and I believe she would 
chaff the Queen if she got the chance. It’s all over the 
place, you know, that you and I are going to be mar- 
ried.” 

“ I did not know it was all over the place,” answered 
Veronica, frowning thoughtfully; “I don’t think I 
quite like it. Who can have been spreading such re- 
ports ? ” 

“Oh, Aunt Julia and the General, I suppose. It 
doesn’t matter, does it ? ” 


COMPLICATIONS. 


99 


“ I don’t like it,” repeated Veronica. “We ought to 
be honest, I think, and I shall tell Aunt Julia to-night 
that she must not cherish any hopes of the kind.” 

“ I trust you won’t do that,” said Horace ; “ you will 
let yourself in for no end of worry if you do. As it is, 
don’t you see, we can be friendly and comfortable 
together ; but there will be a finish to all comfort as 
soon as Aunt Julia hears that we don’t mean business.” 

“ I can put up with a little discomfort.” 

“ I am not so sure of that, and I am quite sure that 
I can’t. Not with discomfort of that sort, anyhow. I 
couldn’t stay with you at Broxham, for instance.” 

“ Oh, you must come to Broxham. Miss Cradock 
has promised to come.” 

“ Ah ! that settles it, then. The Broxham partridges 
and pheasants will have to be shot by somebody else this 
year.” 

And although he was begged to be more explicit, he 
refused to make any further revelations, merely saying 
that it didn’t signify, and talking persistently about the 
people whom he had met at Sandown until Mrs. Mans- 
field came in to relieve him of conversational diffi- 
culties. 

Upon the whole, it seemed to Veronica that nobody 
was at all inclined to help her out of her own diffi- 
culties, which showed signs of becoming increasingly 
complicated. 


CHAPTER IX. 


VERONICA IS HIGHLY COMPLIMENTED. 

After giving the subject full consideration, Veronica 
decided against informing her aunt in so many words 
that the project of undoing the perverse deeds of the 
late Mr. Trevor by means of a matrimonial alliance was 
one which could never be carried into effect. So far as 
she herself was concerned, she would greatly have pre- 
ferred a straightforward course; but there were other 
people to be thought of, and Horace’s point of view 
was, after all, comprehensible enough. He wanted to 
be upon intimate, cousinly terms with the girl who had 
supplanted him ; but he did not want to be worried and 
bothered, nor could he attempt to explain to people in- 
capable of understanding what he meant that he was 
too much of a gentleman to fall in with their ideas. 
He would, therefore, simply absent himself — a thing 
which he must on no account be allowed to do. His 
expressed reluctance to meet Dolly Cradock needed no 
explanation, and it was entirely to his credit that, being 
now too poor to think of marrying, he should shrink 
from close association in a country house with one 

whom, under happier circumstances, he might have 
( 100 ) 


VERONICA IS HIGHLY COMPLIMENTED. 1Q1 

asked to share his fortunes. But it was clearly indis- 
pensable that he should visit Broxham, and that he 
should meet Dolly there. Moreover, Veronica herself 
was too fond of him, and too sincerely interested in 
him, to contemplate the loss of his companionship with 
equanimity. 

All these cogent arguments led her to make a com- 
promise with her conscience. She did, indeed, tell 
Aunt Julia that she had been much annoyed at hearing 
of a ridiculous rumour to the effect that she was en- 
gaged to her cousin ; but when Mrs. Mansfield rejoined, 
laughing, “ Oh, my dear, that was certain to be said ; it 
isn’t of the slightest consequence,” she pursued the sub- 
ject no further. It was not, she thought, necessary to 
protest that under no conceivable circumstances could 
such a rumour be justified by the event. Nor did she 
make any reply to her aunt’s subsequent ejaculation of 
“ Dolly Cradock, of course, has been repeating gossip to 
you ! The truth is that she herself would have been 
only too glad to marry Horace when everybody thought 
that he had expectations ; but she would never have had 
the chance.” 

As to the accuracy of this latter assertion, Veronica 
had'her own opinion ; but of course she kept it to her- 
self. She likewise kept to herself all reference to the 
scheme of which an outline existed in her prophetic 
mind. At least, Aunt Julia would not be able to say 
that any encouragement had been given to her own 
scheme, or that the persons concerned therein were re- 
sponsible for its predestined failure. 


102 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


Having arrived at that comforting conclusion, Ve- 
ronica felt free to leave the future alone and enjoy the 
present — which was, in truth, very enjoyable. It is no 
bad thing to have plenty of ready money, to be provided 
with entertaining and diversified society. When to this 
is added a congenial and deferential companion, in the 
person of a young man whom you have every hope of 
moulding in accordance with your ideas of what a young 
man ought to be, you must indeed be hard to please if 
you are not satisfied. During the weeks that followed 
Veronica was very well satisfied indeed. Everything 
seemed to be going as smoothly as could be expected. 
Aunt Julia was only too glad to keep her in London as 
long as she cared to stay ; Mrs. Dimsdale, after some 
hesitation, had consented to let her defray the cost of 
Joe’s agricultural tuition in the house of a gentleman- 
farmer, with whom it had been arranged that he should 
take up # his residence ; Mr. Mostyn looked in from time 
to time and spoke words of encouragement which were 
not, perhaps, to be taken too literally, but which were 
pleasant to listen to. The only question which gave 
rise to some harassing misgivings was whether, after all, 
Dolly Cradock was quite worthy of Horace. For there 
was no shutting one’s eyes to the fact that Dolly was 
vulgar-minded, and increased intimacy with her ren- 
dered it impossible to imagine that her influence upon 
her future husband could be of an elevating nature. 
However, people must be allowed to choose for them- 
selves in such matters, and Veronica felt tolerably cer- 
tain that Horace’s choice had been made. She was all 


VERONICA IS HIGHLY COMPLIMENTED. 1Q3 


the more certain of it because he took such pains to 
avoid meeting Miss Cradock, and because he could by 
no means be induced to talk about her. His one wish, 
apparently, was to spend as many hours as possible with 
the girl who had despoiled him of his inheritance, and, 
as may be supposed, it was not Mrs. Mansfield who was 
inclined to baulk him of facilities for gratifying that 
wish. Veronica, knowing the true state of the case, 
could not help finding this a little amusing. 

“ What are you going to do to-morrow ? ” she asked 
him one Saturday afternoon when he was, as usual, 
sitting beside her at the tea-table, Mrs. Mansfield hav- 
ing (also as usual) retired into her own sanctum to 
write letters. 

He replied that he didn’t know; he had rather 
thought of looking in at Tattersall’s. 

u Ah, but I mean in the morning,” said Veronica. 
“You ought, of course, to be going to church some- 
where ; but I am afraid that you don’t always remem- 
ber to go to church. Why not come to St. Paul’s with 
me? They are doing Schubert in F, which is well 
worth hearing, and perhaps the sermon may be worth 
hearing too.” 

“ It may be ; one never knows,” assented Horace 
in a somewhat despondent tone. “ But,” he added 
more cheerfully, “ I shall be delighted to go anywhere 
with you. I find that I am beginning to like all the 
things that you like; so that there’s a chance of my 
even appreciating the music, ignorant though I am.” 

Appreciation can hardly exist without knowledge, 


104 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


but it is, fortunately, within the capacity of us all to 
admire what is beautiful, although we may not be able 
to specify our reasons for so doing; and perhaps it 
was because Horace Trevor’s powers of admiration were 
very great that he thoroughly enjoyed the service to 
which he was duly conducted on the following day. 
He had never heard anything of the kind before — his 
previous experiences of Church of England services 
having been of a severely Protestant order — and, to tell 
the truth, he would have been puzzled to say at any 
given moment precisely what was taking place. Never- 
theless, his emotion was stirred by the really exquisite 
rendering of a composition which cannot but appeal to 
everyone who has even an uncultivated musical ear : 
the pealing organ, the sweet treble voices, the subdued 
solemnity of the whole scene, the sense of space and 
remoteness in the heart of the vast city touched some- 
thing within him which is generally known by the 
name of the devotional instinct. He said to himself 
that that sort of thing made him feel good — it may be 
that the occasional side-glances which he stole at his 
companion, who had evidently forgotten his vicinity, 
made him feel still better. In these days women are 
doing their very best to persuade us that they are neither 
better nor worse than we ourselves ; but the illusions — 
if, indeed, they be illusions — of centuries die hard, and 
probably there will always remain a sufficient supply of 
simple-minded male creatures who, like Horace Trevor, 
will cling to the old theory of angel or fiend. And it 
was in very respectful and deferential accents that that 


VERONICA IS HIGHLY COMPLIMENTED. 105 

young man addressed Miss Dimsdale when they left the 
Cathedral together. 

“I don,t wonder at your being fond of sacred 
music, he said ; “ one can see that it is really sacred to 
you.” 

“ Well, Schubert is,” answered Veronica, who did not 
quite take his meaning ; “ but there are plenty of masses 
which are distinctly secular.” 

“ You would say your prayers just the same, though, 
whether the music was secular or not,” persisted Hor- 
ace Trevor. “ You were saying your prayers this morn- 
ing.” 

“You weren’t, then?” 

The young man shook his head gravely. “ Haven’t 
done such a thing for years, I’m sorry to say. I had 
more than half a mind to begin just now; but then I 
thought what’s the use of making believe ? It would 
only have been because of — because of you, don’t you 
see ! ” 

Veronica did not look as much shocked as he had 
expected her to be. “ There is no use in making be- 
lieve, certainly,” she assented, with a slight laugh. “ Do 
you mean that you are a sceptic ? ” 

“ Oh, dear, no,” answered Horace, who, oddly enough, 
was himself quite shocked at the question ; “ only a sin- 
ner.” 

“ I doubt whether you are a very heinous kind of 
sinner, and many excellent men are more or less of 
sceptics. There is Mr. Mostyn, for instance ” 

“ Oh, it don’t matter what he is ! ” interrupted 


106 A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 

Horace; “I ain’t going to take him for my model. 
What we all ought to be is what you are.” 

“How overjoyed Aunt Julia would be if she could 
hear you making such fantastic assertions ! ” exclaimed 
Veronica, laughing aloud. “ Don’t look so cross ; I 
didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but really I am not 
what you take me for ; it is only the music that has 
gone to your head. Besides,” she added more gravely, 
“ Christianity doesn’t consist in saying prayers.” 

“ What does it consist in ? ” Horace asked. 

“ I am going to lunch with one of the Canons, who 
ought to be able to tell you, if anyone can,” answered 
Veronica. “Come and be introduced to him. He is a 
dear old man — a friend of IJncle John’s, and he will be 
charmed to see you.” 

It did not occur to Veronica that there was anything 
startling or out-of-the-way in thus presenting herself at 
the house of her uncle’s friend, attended by a strange 
young man ; nor was that eminent divine as scandalised 
as his wife would have been if he had had one. He was 
an amiable, hospitable, and somewhat absent-minded 
old bachelor, in addition to being a distinguished theo- 
logian ; Veronica’s matter-of-course explanation that 
she had brought a hungry cousin with her appeared to 
him to meet all the requirements of the case, and he 
accorded a kindly welcome to Horace, whose spiritual 
hunger he was not invited to assuage in the course of 
the ensuing hour. 

As for Horace himself, it must be owned that the 
unconventional character of the whole proceeding was 


VERONICA IS HIGHLY COMPLIMENTED. 107 


not without a certain exhilarating effect upon him. 
There did, to be sure, exist a perfectly clear convention 
between him and Veronica, by virtue of which lie was 
where he was, and which entitled him to say “ Honi soil 
qui mal y pense ” to all and sundry whom it might con- 
cern. Still, he was, after all, a young man and she was 
a young woman, while their relationship was a fiction 
pure and simple. One cannot entirely ignore such cir- 
cumstances — unless, indeed, one is so singular and ad- 
mirable a mortal as Veronica Dimsdale — and his mind 
dwelt upon them a good deal more than upon religious 
difficulties while he sat in the dim old dining-room list- 
ening to a conversation which related chiefly to matters 
of which he had little personal knowledge. He was 
surprised to fipd how much Veronica knew, how well 
up she was in statistics, and how capable of discussing 
the social problems of a great city with one whose earlier 
and more active years had been spent in an East-End 
parish. 

“ Do you know,” said he, as they walked slowly away 
from Amen Corner in search of a cab, “ I am beginning 
to think that the old chap who made a rich woman of 
you was no fool. You will spend his money more sensi- 
bly than he did, and a very great deal more sensibly 
than I should have done if it had come to me.” 

“ I am glad you think so,” answered Veronica. She 
added, after a pause : “ I only hope you will always do 
me the justice to think so.” 

“ I shall always think that whatever you do is right,” 
returned the young man, with conviction. 


108 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


That sounded like a rather bold assertion to make ; 
but Veronica said nothing in depreciation of it. She was 
conscious of being in some respects Horace’s superior ; 
she wanted him to look up to her, and indeed hardly 
saw how his future happiness was to be secured upon 
any other terms. She therefore permitted him, without 
contradiction, to praise her wisdom and unselfishness in 
glowing language until the sight of a solitary hansom 
caused her to interrupt his eloquence. 

There are not too many hansoms to be met with in 
the City on a Sunday afternoon ; so that you must take 
what you can get. Otherwise, Horace, who had not a 
Londoner’s comfortable conviction that one horse is 
much the same as another, would probably have allowed 
that particular vehicle to pass unhailed. 

“ Mind his heels ! ” said he, as Veronica stepped in ; 
and, sure enough, two resounding bangs upon the dash- 
board gave immediate justification for his warning. 

“ Is he going to kick? ” asked Veronica, while Hor- 
ace, after calling out the address to the driver, seated 
himself beside her. 

“ Yes, I expect so,” answered the young man, who 
looked a little perturbed. “ Shall we let this fellow go 
and walk on until we meet another ? ” 

But Veronica answered, with a laugh, “ Oh, no ! that 
would be too-humiliating. Besides, a hansom isn’t like 
a dog-cart. There would be a great deal of kicking to 
be done before we could be touched.” 

That was all very fine, but a hansom is an awkward 
conveyance to get out of ; and they were no sooner off 


VERONICA IS HIGHLY COMPLIMENTED. 109 

than Horace heartily wished that he had been more 
peremptory with his companion. The animal was young 
and fresh ; he did not seem to be well accustomed to his 
work, and, what was worse was that the driver was evi- 
dently afraid of him. After about five uneasy minutes 
— during which Veronica had been placidly contemplat- 
ing the long vista of the Strand — the very thing hap- 
pened which her more watchful neighbour had been in- 
wardly dreading. A sudden gust of wind swept across 
the street, blowing a scrap of newspaper before it, just 
under the horse’s nose. Up went the brute’s heels, down 
went his head, and the next monfent he was tearing off 
towards Charing Cross at a pace far too good to last. 

It is never very pleasant to be run away with, but 
perhaps the most disagreeable time and place that could 
be selected for such an experience would be a London 
street on Sunday. Horses seldom bolt in a crowd, and 
even when they do, their career cannot last long ; but 
this excited beast had nothing in front of him, except 
a couple of omnibuses, with both of which he just 
missed colliding, and the only question was how far he 
would run before the inevitable smash occurred. 

“ Sit tight ! ” exclaimed Horace. But, indeed, there 
was nothing else to be done, unless it was to get down 
into the bottom of the cab, and this measure of precau- 
tion he was in the act of enforcing upon Veronica 
when he was abruptly shot out into the roadvva}q pre- 
ceded by his hat, which somebody obligingly picked up 
for him. The horse had slipped and fallen heavily; 

the shafts were broken ; the driver was lying insensible 
8 


110 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


upon the pavement, and Veronica, neither frightened 
nor hurt, was stooping over the man, surrounded by 
a rapidly increasing crowd. Horace, after satisfying 
himself that she had really sustained no injury, was for 
withdrawing her from the throng at once, but to this 
she could in no wise be induced to consent. Not a step 
would she stir until a couple of policemen had arrived 
upon the scene, and the horse had been got upon his 
legs again, and a stretcher had been procured for the 
luckless cabman ; nor would anything serve her then 
but to join the procession, which was presently set in 
motion for Charing Cross Hospital, where she insisted 
upon awaiting the verdict of the house-surgeon, which 
was, fortunately, a favourable one. Then she took the 
name and address of the sufferer, said she would visit 
him again on the morrow, and promised that his wife 
and children should be provided for as long as might 
be necessary. 

All this was doubtless no more than what obedience 
to the dictates of common humanity enjoined ; but 
there is no known method of determining what people 
actually are or do. They and their conduct are, for all 
practical purposes, what they appear to us to be, and it 
appeared to Horace Trevor that Miss Veronica Dims- 
dale was a woman of quite extraordinary courage and 
benevolence. On the way to South Audley Street he 
told her so with rather more emphasis, perhaps, than 
the occasion called for; insomuch that she laughed 
heartily at him, although his praise was not displeasing 
to her. 


VERONICA IS HIGHLY COMPLIMENTED. m 


“ I am getting my share of compliments to-day,” 
was her concluding remark, as she took leave of him on 
the doorstep. “ At this rate, I shall soon realise your 
ideal of absolute perfection. And yet if I ever beg you 
to grant me a small favour the chances are that you 
will regret your inability to do what you are asked.” 

“ Try me,” said Horace. 

“Well, perhaps I will some fine day. How I must 
go in and relate my adventures to Aunt Julia, who will 
at once add a storey to the castle in the air upon the 
strength of them.” 

Horace walked off in a meditative mood. He him- 
self was unconsciously laying the foundations of a cas- 
tle in the air, and had been so occupied since the morn- 
ing; but, to do him justice, he no sooner discovered 
what he was about than he promptly stopped opera- 
tions. 

“ Hullo ! ” he exclaimed aloud, “ this will never do ! 
A nice peck of trouble I shall land myself in if I don’t 
look out ! Luckily, it isn’t too late to pull up, and pull 
up I must before I begin to run down the hill. Hence- 
forth, my dear Veronica, we won’t see quite so much of 
one another.” 

% 

He paced on for some little distance, with a rather 
rueful countenance, and then relieved his feelings by a 
second audible ejaculation — for he was crossing Gros- 
venor Square at the moment and there was nobody 
within hearing — 

“ What beats me is how the General, who has a 
pretty quick eye for good looks, can have described her 


112 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


as no beauty ! If he had seen her sitting in that han- 
som cab, as cool as you please, with death staring her 
in the face, he would have altered his opinion, I sus- 
pect. However, it’s nothing to me whether she is 
lovely or plain. Ho ! if there is a certain fact in the 
world it is that that must never be anything to me.” 


CHAPTER X. 


AN INCOMPLETE EXPLANATION. 

It is very hard luck to lose your heart to a girl 
whom you cannot possibly marry : worse luck by a long 
way — such, at least was Horace Trevor’s opinion — than 
to lose a fortune through her. But he consoled him- 
self with the reflection that he had not lost his heart 
yet ; he was only in some danger of doing so. As to 
the impossibility of his ever marrying Veronica, that 
was manifest. The thing was impossible, not so much 
because he had honourable scruples about enriching 
himself in such a way as because she would most assured- 
ly refuse him were he insane enough to propose to her. 
Moreover, she would consider, and rightly consider, 
that he had played her false. A compact had been 
entered into, and it must not be departed from, happen 
what might. 

What seemed more than likely to happen, unless 
immediate steps were taken to avert the calamity, was 
that her natural acuteness would enable her to detect a 
state of things which ought to be concealed from her. 
Horace, therefore, made up his mind to take immediate 

steps ; and perhaps it was by way of inaugurating a fresh 
( 113 ) 


114 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


departure that he betook himself forthwith to South 
Kensington to call on Lady Louisa Cradock. 

On arriving at his destination, he found, as he had 
anticipated, a number of hilarious persons of both sexes 
gathered together ; for Lady Louisa was always at home 
on Sunday afternoons, and her daughter’s friends were 
accustomed to make themselves so under her roof. She 
herself was a faded, careworn little woman, whose dress 
resembled her carpets in respect of being threadbare, 
and who never exerted herself to entertain anybody. 
It was Dolly’s business to do that, and Dolly was gener- 
ally considered to be immensely entertaining. Hor- 
ace himself had always hitherto concurred in the 
general opinion ; but then Miss Dolly had not hith- 
erto been entertaining at his expense, as she now saw 
fit to be. 

“ Well, you have got a nice pair of broken knees on 
you ! ” was her jocose greeting. “ That ought to be a 
good twenty pounds off your value — which isn’t what it 
used to be, anyhow.” 

Horace glanced down, and for the first time per- 
ceived two large muddy patches upon his trousers, 
which he vainly attempted to rub off with his hand. 

“ Never mind,” resumed Dolly, “ it looks respect- 
able, after all — shows you have been to church. One 
of those Ritualistic places of worship where there are 
too many services to leave time for scrubbing the 
floor, I suppose! And I’ll lay two to one in half- 
crowns that I name the person who took you there. 
What a pity that you should have taken to pious 


AN INCOMPLETE EXPLANATION. 


115 


practices too late in the day ! But perhaps it isn’t too 
late— eh?” 

“ Piety hadn’t anything to with it; I’ve been 
pitched out of a hansom,” answered Horace rather 
gruffly ; for he was conscious of an amused and rather 
inquisitive audience, and he did not at the moment 
care about being chaffed upon the subject of his inti- 
macy with Miss Dimsdale. 

But of course there was no escape for him. He was 
made to give a full account of the manner in which he 
had spent the day, and Dolly’s comments on his narra- 
tive, if humorous, were not of a nature to please him. 
He began to see what had not struck him before, that he 
ought not to have exposed Veronica to the more or less 
ill-natured gossip of lookers-on. Mrs. Mansfield, who 
anticipated an engagement, could afford to allow him 
privileges which he had had no business to claim ; but 
since there was to be no engagement, and since he had 
known all along that there was to be none, his conduct 
had certainly been thoughtless. Now he had to submit 
to the banter of Dolly Cradock and her friends, his de- 
nial that there was anything in the shape of flirtation 
between him and the lady whom he persisted in calling 
his cousin being naturally taken for what it was worth. 
There had, however, been at one time something almost 
more pronounced than a flirtation between him and his 
present tormentor, and in his simplicity he could think 
of no better way of stopping her mouth than attempt- 
ing a renewal of it. 

“ I think you at least might spare me this sort of 


116 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


thing,” he took occasion to say to her reproachfully in 
a low voice, under cover of the temporary diversion 
created by the entrance of a fresh visitor. 

Dolly shrugged her shoulders and made a grimace. 
“ Don’t apologise,” she returned. “ The wind has 
changed; you are quite right to shape your course 
accordingly.” 

But I am not shaping it in that direction, and I 
wish you wouldn’t talk as if I were. I know well 
enough that the wind has changed, and I can’t — well, I 
can’t look forward to things which I might have 
looked forward to once upon a time ; but I do assure 
you that neither my cousin nor I are dreaming of 
what you mean, and I don’t want to be annoyed by 
false reports.” 

“ But really, my dear friend, it doesn’t make the 
slightest difference to me whether the reports are false 
or true.” 

“I suppose not,” answered Horace, with a rather 
hypocritical sigh; “only it would be kind of you to 
discourage them. At this rate I shall soon have to give 
up all my female friends. Some of them I mustn’t 
visit lest I should be supposed to be a fortune-hunter, 
and others I have felt bound to avoid because I have 
become such a hopeless detrimental.” 

The odd thing about this palpably insincere ex- 
planation of the fact that he had latterly neglected his 
duty towards a certain lady friend was accepted. If 
Dolly Cradock had really wished to mairy her quondam 
admirer, she might have been less easily convinced ; but 


AN INCOMPLETE EXPLANATION. 


117 


she had no idea of linking her fate with that of a hope- 
less detrimental. Her only feeling in the matter had 
been one of slight mortification that another should 
bear away what had once been a prize, and she was not 
unwilling to make-believe a little for the sake of secur- 
ing a cheap triumph. So she added compassion- 
ately — 

“Poor fellow! Well, you sha’n’t be accused again 
of wanting to do the only sensible thing that there is to 
be done, under the circumstances. But it isn’t necessary 
to cut old acquaintances because you yourself have been 
unfortunate enough to be cut out of your inheritance. 
Give us credit for not being so desperately eager to 
jump down your throat, and look us up sometimes, as 
you used to do before the superior Veronica took you in 
hand and tried to elevate your taste.” 

It was close upon dinner-time when Horace quitted 
a house which he had esteemed in former days to be 
one of the cheeriest in London. If his taste had now 
become so elevated that its inmates and habitues had 
ceased to attract him, that, he felt, was scarcely a matter 
for self-congratulation. He must seek amusement some- 
where or other, but certainly not in South Audley 
Street; and the worst of it was that he doubted very 
much whether amusement was obtainable for him else- 
where. However, he was determined to try — the more 
so because he had a genuine liking for Dolly Cradock, 
notwithstanding her lack of refinement. 

During many successive days, therefore, both Mrs. 
Mansfield and Veronica were made to wonder what in 


118 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


the world had become of him. The former ended by 
growing seriously uneasy; the latter, though a little 
piqued, said to herself that nothing was more easily to 
be accounted for than his absence. Of course, he had 
his own friends and his own pursuits, neither being 
identical with hers, and if she had been able for a time 
to wean him from these, that only showed how good- 
natured he was. Besides, she really did not want to 
have him always following her about. Much as she 
liked him, she could quite conceive the possibility of 
having too much of his society, and could quite forgive 
him for having had, apparently, too much of hers. 
This was what she said to her aunt, who suspected that 
there had been a quarrel, and whose persistent queries 
were sometimes troublesome to evade. 

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Mrs. Mansfield had 
other sources of information, from which she learnt that 
Horace had been seen every morning riding in the Park 
with Dolly Oradock ; and, putting two and two together, 
she came to the conclusion that the best thing she could 
do was to write a somewhat peremptory note requesting 
the young man to come to luncheon, as she had matters 
of business upon which she wished to consult him. The 
summons was dutifully obeyed, and the matters of busi- 
ness (which referred to the investment of' some money, 
a subject as to which Horace’s opinion was of no value 
whatsoever) did not take long to dispose of. Then the 
good lady, who had listened to his observations with a 
great show of deference and attention, said she must 
write to her bankers and brokers at once, and begged 


AN INCOMPLETE EXPLANATION. 


119 


him to talk to Veronica in the drawing-room for a few 
minutes while she finished her letters. 

Now, Veronica, as it chanced, was not best pleased 
with the way in which he had behaved during luncheon. 
Certain symptoms— i visible embarrassment of manner, 
an unnatural loquacity, a careful avoidance of her eye — 
which had appeared to his hostess to indicate nothing 
more than that nervous apprehension which a young 
man who has unhappily fallen out with the girl of his 
heart may be expected to display, were open to quite 
another interpretation, and it was in this latter light 
that Veronica had been disposed to view them. Con- 
sequently, her features did not relax when he came into 
the room smiling, and said — 

“ I’ve been sent in here to talk to you. Poor old 
Aunt Julia! she ain’t a diplomatist of the very first 
water, is she ? ” 

“As far as that goes, I don’t know that you are 
quite in a position to criticise her,” Veronica observed 
drily. “ Your thoughts are generally written upon 
your face in tolerably plain characters.”. 

Horace came to a standstill and said, “ Oh, I hope 
not!” 

“ I wouldn’t entertain that hope if I were you ; it 
will never be anything but a very forlorn one. After 
all there is nothing to be ashamed of in having a speak- 
ing countenance, and I have always liked you for being 
unable to conceal your thoughts. At the same time, I 
wish you didn’t have such thoughts ! ” 

The young man being now quite sure that his secret 


120 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


had been detected, dropped into a chair and answered 
sorrowfully, “ I am awfully sorry, Veronica, but I can’t 
help them, you know.” 

“ Can’t you? Well I suppose it is natural to men to 
be vain and — horrid. For the last two or three days I 
have had a dawning suspicion of what it might be that 
kept you from coming here as usual, and now I know. 
I shouldn’t be telling you the truth if I didn’t say that 
I am disappointed in you. However, we won’t quarrel 
over it.” 

“ I wish with all my heart that you hadn’t guessed ; 
but don’t you think I was right to stay away, Veronica? ” 
pleaded poor Horace humbly. 

“ I certainly do not think that your reason for stay- 
ing away was a good one, and I can’t understand why 
you should harbour delusions which I have never done 
anything at all to encourage. You don’t seem to have 
much belief in my word ; but surely you might believe 
that I am speaking the truth when I assure you that if 
you were the only man in the world, I should not marry 
you ! ” 

“ Since you say so, no doubt it is so. Thank you 
fox putting the case in such a forcible way,” answered 
Horace, with a shade of resentment in his voice ; for in- 
deed assurances of that kind can hardly be made 
palatable to their recipient, however salutary they 
may be. 

“Very well, then; let us drop the subject, and 
begin again where we left off. It is most disagreeable 
to be forced into saying what I have had to say; but 


AN INCOMPLETE EXPLANATION. 


121 

you will allow that you have only yourself to blame for 
it. You ought to have known better.” 

Horace ruefully admitted that he ought. “But I 
don’t know about beginning again where we left off,” 
he added ; “ it isn’t so easy to forget things, even 
though one may be quite willing not to mention them 
any more.” 

“ Oh, nonsense ! ” remarked Veronica, laughing. 
“ If I am ready to forgive and forget, it can’t be asking 
too much of you that you should do the same. Espe- 
cially as you have nothing on earth to forgive. You 
have made a mistake, and you confess that it was a mis- 
take ; that is enough. Let us consider the whole inci- 
dent wiped out and say no more about it. Now tell 
me, what you have been doing with yourself all this 
long time.” 9 

Horace did his best to appear friendly and uncon- 
cerned ; but it was scarcely within the power of mortal 
man to help feeling a little bit sore, or to help showing 
that he felt so. He had not expected Veronica to divine 
what he himself had ignored up to the .moment of their 
last parting ; yet, since she had divined it, a little more 
sympathy and a little less Irusquerie would not have 
been out of place, he thought. Why was he to blame 
for having fallen in love with her ? If he had so far 
forgotten their respective positions as to propose mar- 
riage to her, that would have been quite another thing. 
So the dialogue that followed did not at all resemble 
previous dialogues held between him and Veronica, and 
perhaps, in the course- of it, he dwelt rather more than 


122 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


was absolutely necessary upon the circumstance that he 
had seen a great deal of the Cradock family of late ; 
when a man has just been informed that if he were the 
sole representative of his sex upon the surface of this 
planet, one woman at least would never deign to look at 
him, he is not unnaturally disposed to hint at the exist- 
ence of other women less hard to please. 

Veronica, for her part, seemed to be, and indeed was, 
much interested in all that he had to tell her. She 
spoke with magnanimous approval of Dolly Cradock, 
encouraged him to be more communicative, and shook 
hands with him warmly when Mrs. Mansfield came into 
the room with her bonnet on, which he took as a signal 
for him to rise. 

“ I hope,” said that well-meaning lady, as soon as he 
had departed, “ that you have contrived to put poor 
Horace into better spirits ; he looked quite ill and un- 
like himself at luncheon, I thought.” 

“ Oh, I don’t think there is very much the matter 
with him,” answered Veronica, laughing, “and I am 
sure he will always be like himself. He has no sort of 
aptitude for being like anybody else.” 

Nevertheless, she confessed to herself, after she had 
begged to be excused from accompanying her aunt to a 
musical tea-fight, that she had not until now known ex- 
actly what Horace was like. She had supposed him too 
simple, too unsuspecting, above all to modest to fall into 
so preposterous an error as that to which she had under- 
stood that he had owned ; it did not increase her respect 
for his intelligence that he should have deemed it neces- 


AN INCOMPLETE EXPLANATION. 


123 


sary to protect her from wholly imaginary danger and 
absent himself lest his fascinations should prove too 
much for her fortitude. 

“ But, never mind ! ” was the reflection with which 
she finally dismissed the unpleasant episode from her 
thoughts. “ I told him I would forgive and forget, and 
I must be as good as my word. I think, too, that I 
must have made him feel rather foolish. The main 
thing is that we are still friends, and, with ordinary 
luck, I ought to be able to arrange matters so that he 
shall be squire of Broxham before another year is out. 
When once that business has been settled, we can go 
our several ways, and I daresay we shall not meet often 
again ; for, somehow or other, I don’t feel as if I should 
ever care to be very intimate with Dolly Cradoek.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


ENOUGH OF IT. 

If we were all of us able to perceive the tolerably 
obvious, the world in which we live would proceed 
along its appointed course much more smoothly than 
it does; wars would be less frequent, party government 
would have to be abolished, lawyers would have to join 
the ranks of the unemployed and harmony would reign 
in private life. But, on the other hand, existence 
would perhaps become a somewhat dull and uneventful 
business ; and this thought may serve in some measure 
to console people like Horace Trevor and Veronica 
Dimsdale, who contrive to misunderstand one another 
where no misunderstanding ought to be possible. Ve- 
ronica might have had sense enough to realise how 
extremely unlikely it was that a young fellow whose 
natural modesty she had recognised from the first 
should be seized all of a sudden with the panic which 
she had imputed to him, while Horace should have 
known that, if she had really guessed the state of his 
feelings, she would have dealt more gently with him ; 
but neither of them was capable of bringing an un- 
biased judgment to bear upon the circumstances, and 

( 124 ) 


ENOUGH OF IT. 


125 


thus they became estranged, notwithstanding their os- 
tensible amity. When they met, they were to all out- 
ward appearance as good friends as ever ; but they did 
not very often meet, nor was their intercourse of the 
old confidential kind. 

“ Give them time,” the experienced Mrs. Mansfield 
said to her brother-in-law, who was growing impatient, 
and who wanted to know what the deuce the young- 
folks were waiting for ; “ they have had a little tiff, but 
they have made it up again, and we can’t do better than 
leave them to play out their comedy in their own way. 
After all, it is early days yet.” 

“ I don’t know what you call early days,” grumbled 
Lord Chippenham ; “ I know we are getting within 
sight of the time when we shall all have to leave Lon- 
don, and I want this business to be settled before the 
end of the season.” 

Mrs. Mansfield also would have been glad to be re- 
lieved of further anxiety upon the subject ; but she had 
found out that Veronica was not a very easy person 
either to lead or to drive, and she did not want to spoil 
a promising scheme by injudicious meddling. The 
wisest plan, she decided, was to allow her niece plenty 
of liberty, to ask no questions and make no visible 
efforts to attract Horace to the house. It might like- 
wise not be amiss to arouse the young gentleman’s 
jealousy a little, should such an incentive prove man- 
ageable. With this end in view, she neglected no op- 
portunity of throwing the heiress into the society of 
those who were only too eager to make the acquaintance 


126 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


of heiresses; and if this stratagem was not crowned 
with any great success, so far as Horace was concerned, 
it had at least the effect of causing Veronica to appre- 
ciate him more highly by comparison with his neigh- 
bours. 

“What would become of 01 * la lth in human na- 
ture if one were condemned to spend all one’s days in 
the fashionable world ! ” she mentally ejaculated, after 
an elderly widower and two gay young bachelors had 
displayed the most unbounded faith in her own nature 
by kindly offering to share their fallen fortunes with 
her. “ Not one of these men can know anything at all 
about me, except that I am rich, and evidently that is 
all they care to know. The more I see of these people 
the more I admire Horace for having remained an hon- 
ourable little gentleman in spite of them. The only 
wonder is that, instead of sheering off when he took it 
into his silly head that I was becoming too fond of 
him, he didn’t hasten to profit by such a stroke of good 
fortune ! ” 

But Horace, for weal or for woe, had ceased to be 
among her intimates, and — whether in consequence of 
that fact or not — London society had ceased to interest 
her. She told Mr. Mostyn, who had been amiably 
instrumental in making her known to sundry celebri- 
ties who were not precisely fashionable, that she was 
tired of it all and wanted to be out of it. 

He laughed, and replied, “ I have been waiting for 
some time to hear you say that. It is necessary to look 
closely into things ; but, unfortunately, very few things 


ENOUGH OF IT. 


127 


will bear looking into, and very few people are as big as 
they appear to be from a distance. Never mind ! there 
is a good time coming, when you will be able to survey 
all this as a whole, and when it will furnish you with 
ideas — inspirations even. ” 

But Veronica did not see how it could possibly 
do that. All that can be said about the pettiness and 
cynicism of the so-called great world and the littleness 
of great men has been said scores of times already ; her 
soul yearned for the green meadows and the pleasant, 
wholesome sights and sounds of the Thames valley; 
she was, in short, thoroughly homesick, and painfully 
aware that she no longer had a home. 

It was while she was in this dissatisfied frame of 
mind — which was all the more dissatisfied because she 
could not have said precisely what was wrong with her 
— that she was taken, one afternoon, by her aunt to 
call on Lady Louisa Cradock. She had already ex- 
changed visits and a few unmeaning words with that 
rather dowdy and forlorn lady, of whom she had re- 
tained no distinct impression, and when she was ush- 
ered into a drawing-room where several old women 
were seated, she did not feel it her duty to take any 
part in their commonplace conversation. ' 

Mrs. Mansfield, whose income had not suffered from 
agricultural depression, who could afford to employ an 
expensive dressmaker, and was a good deal more dans 
le mouvement than they were, cheered them up with 
her brisk talk, reminding them, it may be, of happier 
days gone by and exciting their interest by personal 


128 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


anecdotes, picked up in circles which they had ceased 
to frequent. Veronica sat a little apart, scarcely listen- 
ing to them, yet moved with a vague pity for the poor 
old souls, who had lost all that they really cared for 
on earth with the loss of those two most essential ad- 
vantages, youth and money. Their voices, as well as 
their remarks, were pitched in a minor key. They 
seemed to feel — what was probably the case — that they 
had no further raison d’etre. Soon they would be dead 
and buried, and there was no reason to suppose that 
any one of them would be missed. Meanwhile, they 
pricked up their ears and a certain animation became 
perceptible upon their withered countenances when 
they heard that the Duchess of A had publicly cut 
Lady B, on account of her behaviour with the Duke ; 
or that Lord C was said to have actually married 
Miss D, the notorious music-hall singer. 

It was very hot weather. The windows were open 
and the sun-blinds drawn down. Outside there was an 
uninterrupted roar of distant traffic, which somehow 
deepened the effect of profound melancholy produced 
upon Veronica by this tittle-tattle. The world is so 
tremendously busy, and time is rushing on at such a 
headlong pace : those who are not hard at work are at 
least hard at play, and to be stranded on the brink of 
the flowing current seemed to her to be about the sad- 
dest thing that could happen to anybody. It was ter- 
rible to think that a day might come when she too 
would sit, useless and forgotten, in a drawing-room, 
with nothing better to do than to gossip about people 


ENOUGH OF IT. 


129 


whom she did not even know, save by repute. Sud- 
denly a loud outburst of laughter, followed by a babble 
of young voices, rose from immediately beneath her 
feet. 

“ That won’t be quite so depressing as this, any- 
how,” she thought; and, jumping up, she said to Lady 
Louisa, in her abrupt way, “ I am going downstairs to 
see Dolly for a few minutes ; I can hear that she is at 
home.” 

Veronica had already more than once visited Miss 
Dolly in the den which that young woman had appro- 
priated for her exclusive use, and which would have 
probably been her father’s study if Mr. Cradock had 
not been a submissive old gentleman who spent most of 
his time at his club. She made her way thither un- 
hesitatingly now, having received a friendly assurance 
that she would always be welcome, and opened the door 
without knocking. Then she paused on the threshold, 
wishing that she had been less precipitate, and angry 
with herself for having done a stupid, clumsy thing. 

The air was thick with blue clouds of cigarette- 
smoke ; Dolly herself, lolling in a deep arm-chair, was 
smoking ; so were two smartly attired young men, one 
of whom was seated upon the table swinging his legs ; 
so was a third, who, as soon as he recognised her, 
pitched his cigarette out of the window and looked 
caught. The laughter which she had heard when she 
turned the door-handle had been quenched by her en- 
trance. The two strangers were staring at her inter- 
logatively, and Horace, with whom she felt quite irate, 


130 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


had the appearance of wishing very much to follow his 
cigarette. But Dolly was not easily put out of coun- 
tenance. 

“ Come in,” she said ; “ sit down and make yourself 
comfortable. No use to offer you tobacco, I suppose. 
Now, Tommy, go on with your story.” 

The young gentleman addressed slid off the table 
and began to look for his hat. “ Tell you the rest 
some other day,” he answered ; “ it’s about time for me 
to be off now.” 

It took him some minutes to make his adieux and to 
murmur a few parting jocularities in Miss Cradock’s 
ear, while Veronica, who had not sat down and was 
feeling far from comfortable, awaited his exit. But at 
length he went away, taking his friend with him, and 
then the intruder was able to apologise. 

“ I am very sorry to have broken up your party,” 
she said, in a voice which she could not keep from 
sounding constrained and annoyed. “ I ought to have 
known better than to bounce in upon you in that way, 
and I will never do such a thing again, I promise you.” 

“ Oh, we don’t mind, if you don’t,” returned Dolly, 
with a laugh and a glance at Horace, who, for his part, 
seemed to mind a good deal ; “ the only misfortune is 
that you have been shocked. Not so shocked as you 
would have been if you had heard the end of that story ; 
still, quite shocked enough. What can I say ? There 
is really no blinking the fact that I do enjoy a cigar- 
ette occasionally.” 

“ It would be no business of mine if you enjoyed a 


ENOUGH OF IT. 


131 


pipe,” returned Veronica, not very civilly ; “ but I wish 
1 had not prevented you from enjoying the conclusion 
of your friend’s story. As you know it already, you 
had better impart it to Mr. Trevor, who must be dying 
of curiosity. I will go upstairs again and join the old 
ladies.” 

Of course she was not allowed to do that. She was 
made to sit down and talk until Mrs. Mansfield sent a 
servant in search of her, and during the ensuing ten 
minutes she recovered her equanimity sufficiently for 
all needful purposes, so far as Dolly was concerned 
But Horace, much aggrieved at having been spoken of 
as “ Mr. Trevor,” had effected his escape without 
so much as shaking hands, and what added not a 
little to Veronica’s vexation was that she should have 
shown in so unequivocal a fashion how displeased she 
was with him. What right in the world had she to be 
displeased with him ? Why should he not smoke 
cigarettes and listen to highly flavoured stories in the 
company of one whose tastes were in harmony with his 
own, and who, it was to be hoped, would some day bear 
his name ? “I could not have behaved more like an 
utter idiot if I had been jealous of the girl ! And no 
doubt he thought I was,” reflected Veronica furiously, 
as she sat beside her aunt in the carriage and endeav- 
oured to preserve an aspect of unruffled calm. 

She did not mention that she had seen Horace, 
not wishing to be questioned upon the subject, nor did 
Mrs. Mansfield ask her whom she had met downstairs. 
It was rather a relief to be gently remonstrated with 


132 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


for having quitted the drawing-room so abruptly and to 
be told that Lady Louisa had thought it odd of her. 

“ It is best not to be odd,” Mrs. Mansfield said ; 
“people notice it, and they don’t like it. In Dolly 
Cradock’s case it doesn’t perhaps matter ; she has 
chosen to take up the line of being eccentric, and if she 
marries at all, I suppose she will marry somebody who 
likes that sort of thing. But you, my dear, are a very 
different kind of person, I am thankful to say, and 
you do yourself harm when you disregard the conven- 
tionalities.” 

This mild lecture, which was prolonged, with occa- 
sional breaks, until South Audley Street was reached, 
engrossed Veronica’s attention just enough to keep the 
tears out of her eyes, and a letter, addressed in a strag- 
gling, schoolboy hand, which she found on her en- 
trance, served the same desirable purpose. It was de- 
lightful to hear from Joe again, and still more de- 
lightful to learn, after the envelope had been torn open, 
that he was at home for a holiday. 

“ The man with whom I have been living in Lin- 
colnshire has got a couple of children down with the 
measles,” Joe wrote, “ so I have been packed off, lest 
my precious life should be endangered. I am having 
a fairly good time of it at the old place, but it isn’t a 
bit like home without you. Why don’t you run dowm 
for a little and refresh yourself with a dose of rustic 
simplicity, like Virgil and Horace and other great 
poets, including the melodious Mostyn, who tells us 
that you are not yet wedded to town life ? As I have 


ENOUGH OF IT. 


133 


often assured you, my dear, you would be wedded to 
me, if only I were a year or two older, and, after all, I 
don’t know why we should let a mere question of age 
stand in our way. Think it over before you commit 
yourself to some other Johnny of less unimpeachable 
character. Anyhow, return for a time to your faithful 
and disconsolate — Joe. 

“ P. S. — I am walking a foxhound puppy — a per- 
fect beauty. It would be well worth your while to 
come down here, if only to see him.” 

“ I will ! ” exclaimed Veronica, who had perused the 
above epistle in the seclusion of her bedroom. “I 
know they will be glad to have me, and I shall be more 
than glad to get away from this.” 

Without more ado she marched downstairs and an- 
nounced her intention of returning to Harbury Vale 
forthwith. “ I want a change,” she informed her as- 
tonished aunt ; “ all my business transactions with Mr. 
Walton have been brought to an end long ago, and it 
doesn’t seem to be necessary that I should enter into 
possession of Broxham yet awhile. So I have made up 
my mind to forget for six weeks or a couple of months 
that I am a squiress, with all sorts of disagreeable 
responsibilities upon my shoulders. You can remind 
me of them when we meet again, later in the year.” 

Mrs. Mansfield could elicit nothing further than 
that from her : she had seen enough of London for 
the present; she wanted to go back to the country, 
and to the country she meant to go. It was all very 
well to say that in days gone by young people did not 


134 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


take up so peremptory a tone, and to point out that it 
is scarcely respectful to a duly constituted duenna to 
form plans without even consulting her. But what, 
after all, is to be done with a lady who is of age, who is 
her own mistress and who proposes to take her own 
way? Veronica was conciliatory, grateful and affec- 
tionate, but firm : there was evidently nothing for it but 
to let her go, to be thankful for her assurance that she 
looked forward to welcoming Horace to his old home 
in September and to congratulate oneself upon being 
free to resume the course of one’s own quiet, comfort- 
able little existence during the summer months. 

“ I must say that you are very upsetting,” Mrs. 
Mansfield felt it due to herself to remark. “Still, I 
suppose Mr. and Mrs. Dimsdale may be trusted to take 
care of you until the autumn, and, as I shall not be 
wanted, I think I will go to Marienbad and Switzer- 
land.” And to herself she added : “ It will do Horace 
no harm to be shown that he isn’t indispensable. Per- 
haps, too, it is just as well, upon the whole, that the 
engagement should not appear to have been brought 
about with too much precipitation. Of course her go- 
ing off in a hurry like this only means that they have 
had another small squabble.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


HORACE CUTS A POOR FIGURE. 

Horace Trevor, as he walked away from Lady 
Louisa Cradock’s house after that unlucky encounter 
with Veronica, was a seriously* mortified young man. 
He could imagine so well what Veronica must be think- 
ing of him ! In fact, she had shown pretty plainly 
what she thought by taking no direct notice of him, 
and by her disdainful remark that he was probably 
eager to be regaled with the conclusion of a scandalous 
anecdote. And really he had done nothing to merit 
her displeasure or contempt ; on the contrary, he had, 
as it seemed to him, behaved as an honourable man 
from first to last. He had not wanted to fall in love 
with her ; he had done what in him lay to conceal from 
her the fact that that misfortune had befallen him ; he 
had agreed with her that the subject should be ignored 
between them thenceforth and for ever. Why was he 
to be scorned instead of pitied? Certainly he could 
have wished that she had not found him smoking and 
laughing in Dolly Cradock’s sanctum, and he had been 
aware of not looking particularly like a disconsolate 
lover at the moment ; but she did not want him to look 

( 135 ) 


136 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


like a disconsolate lover, he supposed. At least if she 
did, it was rather unreasonable of her. 

All this Horace said to himself with a view to recov- 
ering the cheerful countenance of which he had been 
deprived ; but jt did not help him very much towards 
that desirable end. Of course, he had a right to 
choose his own company and amuse himself in his own 
way; hut the distressing part of it was that Veronica 
had for some time been striving to inoculate him with a 
taste for better company and more refined amusements, 
that he had shown himself an apt disciple and that he 
had reverted to former* habits immediately on discover- 
ing that she had no notion of ever being anything more 
than his friend. Naturally, her conclusion would be 
that he had been deceiving her all along. At the same 
time, it was too bad of her to have jumped to such 
erroneous conclusions, however natural they might be. 
Thus the downcast cogitator wandered from one cause 
of complaint to another ; and the upshot of them all 
was that he was a confoundedly unlucky fellow, that he 
wished to goodness that he had never set eyes on Ve- 
ronica Dimsdale and that he would go out to Colorado, 
or whatever the name of the beastly place was, and be a 
cowboy — hanged if he wouldn’t ! 

In this very fractious mood he remained for several 
days, during which he took care to see no friends, save 
those of his own sex, and was far from civil even to 
them. But it was difficult to be surly with Lord Chip- 
penham, who hailed him, one afternoon, in Pall Mall, 
and for whom an ex-cavalry lieutenant could not help 


HORACE CUTS A POOR FIGURE. 


137 


retaining a respect akin to that which schoolboys who 
have grown bald or grey-headed always feel for a for- 
mer head-master. So when the General hooked him 
by the arm, saying, “ Walk down with me as far as 
Westminster, my boy ; I’ve got to go and record my 
vote against that crew of Radical wiseacres that calls 
itself a Government,” there was nothing for it but to 
comply with a good grace, although what was coming 
might be guessed in advance. Lord Chippenham led 
his captive past the Duke of York’s column and down 
the steps into the Mall, discoursing upon the defence- 
less state of these islands, and then attacked a question 
of more pressing personal interest. 

“ I don’t see the good of shilly-shallying,” he de- 
clared, “ and I. tell you plainly, my dear fellow, that to 
my mind you are behaving almost as much like an ass 
as the Prime Minister. Julia Mansfield may say what 
she likes, but when a thing has to be done, the sooner 
it’s done the better : who knows what may happen 
while you stand shivering on the brink ? Why haven’t 
you proposed to that girl yet, eh ? ” 

“ Well, I don’t know that it is one of the things 
that have got to be done,” answered Horace ; “ in point 
of fact, I should say that it was one of the' things which 
are precious unlikely to be done.” 

“Don’t talk such nonsense! Haven’t I been 
watching you both for weeks ? — and was I born yester- 
day ? It’s very evident to me that you have fallen in 
love with the girl — and a devilish sensible thing to do 
too ! Now, how long do you imagine that you will be 


138 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


allowed to go on dancing attendance upon her without 

speaking out ? How long ” 

“ But I’m not dancing attendance upon her,” inter- 
rupted Horace. 

“ You have been, anyhow ; you won’t deny that, I 
suppose. There’s such a thing as letting one’s oppor- 
tunity slip, and there are plenty of men who ask noth- 
ing better than to take your place, let me tell you, 
young fellow. Come, now ! Be a man or a mouse. 
What are you afraid of? If you have taken it into 
your head that she is likely to refuse you, you have 
taken an uncommonly silly notion into your head; I 
don’t mind saying as much as that to you.” 

Horace thought for a moment of mentioning the 
reasons which must always render it impossible for him 
to offer marriage to the heiress of the late Mr. Trevor, 
but he decided to spare himself the nuisance of an un- 
profitable discussion, and only remarked that he was 
not so cocksure of success as all that. 

“ Well, hang it all, man ! you can but try,” returned 
Lord Chippenham. “ If you fail, you will fail, and 
there will be no more to be said ; but I shall have a 
poor opinion of you if you let Miss Veronica leave Lon- 
don without having had the chance of saying whether 
she wishes to accept you or not.” 

All the rest of the way to the House of Lords he 
enlarged upon the folly of quarrelling with your bread 
and butter in a style most exasperating to his hearer, 
who at length exclaimed — 

“ Very well, then ! If I propose and get my 


HORACE CUTS A POOR FIGURE. 


139 


answer — which will be No — perhaps you and Aunt 
Julia won’t bother me any more about the mat- 
ter.” 

He really did, in his wrath and irritation, intend to 
carry out that crazy project. After all, why not? 
Veronica already knew all that there was to know and 
already despised him. The mere fact of having to re- 
peat what she had said before, in answer to a formal 
proposition which had not been made before would 
hardly trouble her, while it would free him from the 
importunities of officious relatives. Moreover, he was 
in one of those naughty tempers which make us child- 
ishly anxious to seek the deepest depths of humiliation. 
“ You despise me, do you?” he was saying to himself, 
in effect. “ All right, then, you shall have something 
to despise me for.” 

Off he went, therefore, to South Audley Street, with 
a quick, resolute step, and although his heart may have 
sunk a little as he ascended the well-known staircase in 
the wake of the butler, he promised himself that he 
would not leave the house before he should have re- 
ceived the slap in the face which he courted. 

“ This,” remarked Mrs. Mansfield, rising and hold- 
ing out her hand to him, “ is a kindly act which I 
scarcely ventured to hope for. I had made up my 
mind that I should see no more of you now that Ve- 
ronica has left me.” 

“ Veronica left you ! ” ejaculated the young man ; 
“ you don’t mean to say so ! Has she gone for good 
then ? ” 


140 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ Well, she doesn’t return to me until the autumn, 
when I am to chaperon her at Broxham, I believe. 
For the present she has gone to her uncle and aunt at 
Harbury Vale. I thought you knew.” 

“ No,” answered Horace slowly, as he dropped into 
a chair, “ this is the first I have heard of it. Wasn’t 
it rather a sudden move on her part ? ” 

“ Yes, rather ; but she is a sudden sort of person. 
I daresay you may have noticed that.” 

Horace made no rejoinder. His sensation was in 
reality one of immense relief, but he looked sufficiently 
dismayed to satisfy Mrs. Mansfield, who took a mali- 
cious pleasure in his apparent consternation. She 
judged it appropriate to remark : “ Veronica has an old 
head upon young shoulders ; it hasn’t been in the least 
turned by her change of fortune or by the admiration 
of which, as you know, she has had a good deal. Or, 
perhaps, you don’t know, for we have seen so little of 
you lately. Next season, when she will be out of 
mourning and will have* grown accustomed to her posi- 
tion, no doubt she will have an even larger selection of 
suitors to choose from. I shouldn’t be at all surprised 
if she has left London now just because she is not quite 
prepared to make her choice yet.” 

“ Ah ! very likely,” said Horace abstractedly. 

He was wondering within himself what Veronica’s 
real reason could have been for vanishing away without 
a word of farewell. He did not flatter himself that she 
cared enough for his friendship to have gone off in a 
huff ; yet she would surely have wished him good-bye if 


HORACE CUTS A POOR FIGURE. 


141 


she had not meant him to understand that he was in 
her black books. 

“ I wonder at her not having told you she was go- 
ing. I supposed that she had at least written you a 
note,” Mrs. Mansfield remarked placidly. “ You have 
been such good friends all along, in spite of her hav- 
ing, in a sense, robbed you ; and it has been such a 
pleasure to me to see your intimacy.” 

“ She has not robbed me in any sense whatever,” re- 
turned Horace, a little tartly. “ As for friendship — 
well, as you told me at the first, of course she isn’t at all 
my style, and we were hardly likely to develop into 
bosom friends when it came to be a question of in- 
timacy. Not that I don’t like her very much, and I 
am sorry that it will be another twelve months before I 
see her again — that is, if I am still in England twelve 
months hence.” 

“ My dear boy,” exclaimed Mrs. Mansfield, rather 
alarmed by this veiled threat, “ what are you talking 
about? You surely don’t contemplate emigrating or 
doing anything insane of that sort ! And you will 
certainly see Veronica again in September. She counts 
upon you to come to Broxham for the partridge-shoot- 
ing, and so do I. I should never forgive you if you 
were to leave us in the lurch. Just think of it! 
Shooting-parties there must be ; and how are two help- 
less women to make them go off without assistance? ” 

Horace laughed. “ Look here, Aunt Julia,” said 
he ; “I know perfectly well what you are driving at, 

and I have known it ever since you began to play the 

10 


142 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LOCK. 


game. In fact, I may as well tell you that I was sent 
here by the General this afternoon for the express pur- 
pose of proposing to Veronica. She would have refused 
me, of course, and I thought that, after that, you and 
he would leave us in peace. Now, I do want you to 
understand quite clearly that she would never, under 
any circumstances, consent to marry me. Unless that 
much is understood I would rather be shot myself than 
help your friends to shoot the Broxham partridges. 
Will you take my word for it that the match is out of 
the question ? ” 

Mrs. Mansfield was by no means a stupid woman, 
but she was scarcely clever enough to feel certain of the 
response which she was expected to make to this appeal. 
What she thought it, upon the whole, best to say (in 
view of the paramount importance of securing her 
nephew’s presence at Broxham in the autumn) was : 
“ Horace, I will be honest with you. I did very much 
wish and hope that Veronica might take a fancy to 
you ; you must admit that it would have been a most 
fortunate thing on all grounds if she had. Still, as 
you are so sure that it can’t be, I won’t worry you any 
more about it — and, indeed, I have always been afraid 
that you were not quite intellectual enough to please 
her. Never mind ! What can’t be cured must be en- 
dured. Come to Broxham as her friend — or rather as 
her cousin — and I can promise you, on her behalf, that 
you shall have the warmest of welcomes.” 

Nothing could well have been more satisfactory 
than the young man’s reply. lie said he should be 


HORACE CUTS A POOR FIGURE. 


143 


glad to be welcomed on those terms. He added that, 
knowing the place so well, he might probably be of 
some use to Veronica and her guests, and he looked as 
crestfallen as his aunt could have wished. Neverthe- 
less, from Mrs. Mansfield’s point of view, there had 
been some lack of prudence in taking him so promptly 
at his word. Had his sentiments been those which 
were not unnaturally imputed to him, a snub would 
doubtless have served its purpose ; but since he had not 
the faintest intention of ever asking the heiress to be 
his wife, that allusion to his intellectual inferiority was 
a little unfortunate. It caused him to say to himself, 
when he left South Audley Street, after promising to 
keep himself free from engagements until a date for his 
visit to Broxham could be fixed, that he had been a 
perfect fool to imagine that even friendship between 
him and the superior Veronica was a possible thing; it 
caused him to suspect that she must have laughed at his 
innocent endeavours to educate himself up to her level, 
and to resolve that there should be no renewal of such 
endeavours. It likewise caused him to reflect that in 
friendship as well as in love there must be some sort of 
equality between the parties, and that the Dolly Cra- 
docks of this world were much more in his line than 
the Veronica Dimsdales. If Dolly had had a thousand 
a year of her own the chances are that he would have 
proceeded straightway to place his hand and heart at 
her disposal, by way of proving his sense of the general 
fitness of things. 

Dolly having nothing of her own, and having never 


144 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


made any secret of the fact that her future hus- 
band must be a wealthy man, he was preserved from 
doing anything quite so silly as that ; but he solaced 
himself by frequenting resorts where he was pretty sure 
of meeting her, and he was downright sentimental in 
the language which he employed when — as not unfre- 
quently happened — he and she were left to say to one 
another what nobody else could overhear. Now Dolly, 
whatever may have been her failings, was assuredly not 
a sentimental person ; she fully recognised that there is 
all the difference in the world between the poetry of 
love and the prose of matrimony, and although Horace 
Trevor, with the Broxham estate and £100,000 or so 
invested in safe securities, would have suited her well 
enough, she had no more notion of espousing the actual 
Horace than of taking a flying leap from the parapet of 
Westminster Bridge. Yet it is not necessary to have a 
hard heart because one is blessed with a clear, sane 
understanding, nor was there any reason at all why the 
young man’s quasi-amorous speeches should not sound 
very pleasantly in her ears. She believed that he was 
genuinely in love with her, which is always an agree- 
able sort of belief to entertain, and was in her case 
justified by the circumstance that a great many other 
impecunious young men were, or professed to be, in the 
same sad predicament. Moreover, he had as good as 
told her that he was. 

Thus it came to pass, after a time, that the soft in- 
influences of a moonlight night — supplemented, it may 
be, by those of a good dinner and excellent champagne 


HORACE CUTS A POOR FIGURE. 


145 


— brought about a scene between this pair which had 
better not have taken place. They had been dining- 
with a large party at one of those river-side club-houses 
which have sprung up of late years, and the gardens of 
which may have witnessed more than one scene equally 
undesirable from the subsequent point of view of the 
persons concerned therein; they had wandered away 
from their friends, they were contemplating the broad, 
silent stream, and they had been lamenting, as it was 
extremely natural to do, that following up the bright 
track shed upon it by the full moon would never lead 
them to the traditional pot of gold of which they both 
stood so much in need. 

“ What would you do with it if you got it ? ” Dolly 
asked. “ I don’t mean a wretched little pipkin, con- 
taining twenty spade-guineas, or anything of that sort, 
but a good solid fortune of, say, half a million ? ” 

“ I should give it to you,” answered Horace, without 
hesitation. 

“ What, unconditionally ? I don’t for one moment 
believe that you would ; but I can assure you that, if 
you did, you would never see a single penny of it back 
again.” 

“ Oh, well, there would be conditions attached to 
the gift, of course — one condition, at least. You would 
have to take me with it.” 

Dolly Cradock was really an extremely handsome 
girl, and just then she was looking her very best. At 
the moment he spoke he was almost, if not quite, 


sincere. 


146 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ Ah,” she answered, with a touch of bitterness, 
“that is a mere detail. Everybody who knows me 
knows that I should take a hunchback or a cripple who 
had half a million of money fo offer me. Beggars 
mustn’t be choosers.” 

“ But supposing that you weren’t a beggar, and sup- 
posing that »you could choose ? ” Horace asked, draw- 
ing a little nearer to her. 

“ That’s quite another question ; I don’t see why I 
should answer it.” 

“ I don’t see why you shouldn’t ; we are quite alone, 
and I am not very likely to repeat anything you may 
tell me, Dolly.” 

“ Not to the blameless Veronica?” 

“ Why to her of all people in the world ? ” 

“ Only because, a few weeks ago, you were thinking 
seriously of marrying her, and because in all probability 
you will be thinking of it seriously again a few weeks 
hence.” 

“ I never thought, seriously or otherwise, of doing 
any such thing,” Horace declared indignantly. 

“ Oh, yes, you did ; / don’t blame you. As I said 
just now, beggars mustn’t be choosers, and I myself am 
bound to he as mercenary as you. As a rule, I feel 
tolerably resigned to my fate — and so do you, I sus- 
pect,” added Dolly, with a half-smothered sigh. 

Is it necessary to record what happened next? 
Eavesdropping is an ignoble occupation, and if it be 
our ill-fortune to surprise any two of our acquaintances 
in a compromising attitude, we instinctively turn and 


HORACE CUTS A POOR FIGURE. 


147 


flee. Everything leads the present narrator to believe 
that Miss Dolly Cradock had been kissed by gentlemen 
who had no sort of excuse for thus saluting her before 
that evening when Horace Trevor was betrayed into 
saying things which he did not really mean, and it may 
be safely assumed that her indiscretions weighed lightly 
upon her conscience; but there is no need to dwell 
upon an episode in which the hero of this story cuts a 
poor figure, and we may pass on to the words of unex- 
ceptionable wisdom with which the interview was 
brought to a close. 

“ How we won’t play the fool any more,” Dolly said 
briskly ; “ I’m sorry for you, and perhaps a little bit 
sorry for myself too; but we shall both of us be all 
right again in a day or two, if not sooner. This has 
been merely a pretty little intermezzo , if you please; 
it is not to have any consequences, and it is to be for- 
gotten with all possible dispatch. Go and see whether 
they aren’t putting the horses in.” 

Horace had been saying things which he did not 
mean; but Dolly, to do her justice, seldom erred in 
that way. Shortly afterwards she took her place upon 
the box-seat of the drag which was to convey them back 
to London and was driven by an elderly widower of 
large means, to whom she made herself most agreeable. 
Horace listened to her wonderingly, while tardy re- 
pentance and shame gained the mastery over him. Put 
it how he would, he could not but feel that he had dis- 
graced himself. He did not love Dolly; he did not in 
his heart believe that she cared a brass farthing for 


148 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


him ; and although Veronica would never know that he 
had been false to her, and would also not care a brass 
farthing if she did, the fact that he had been false re- 
mained. “ It’s time for me to be off,” was his conclu- 
sion. “ I really can’t look that girl in the face again 
to-morrow, as if nothing had happened, though I ex- 
pect she will be able to keep her countenance easily 
enough. I shall go to Ireland and fish.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE HEW ORDER OF THIHGS. 

“At the present moment,” remarked Veronica 
lazily, “I am perfectly happy, comfortable and con- 
tented. I wonder how many other people there are 
now in this country who could say the same thing — or 
would, if they could ! ” 

“ The population of the United Kingdom is, I be- 
lieve, thirty-eight millions odd,” answered Joe. “ Prob- 
ably we shall be making a liberal allowance if we esti- 
mate that twenty persons out of the lot are as highly 
blessed as you are, and have the decency to acknowledge 
it. Sorry I can’t include my own name in the select 
band, but a pr oxime accessit is as much as I feel justi- 
fied in allowing myself. I want but little here below, 
only I want just a little bit more than I have got.” 

The boat in which they were seated lay motionless 
and half hidden by tall rushes .in a quiet backwater of 
the river; overhead the August sun was blazing out of 
a cloudless sky. Veronica, reclining beneath a white 
sunshade upon a pile of cushions, was enjoying that de- 
light in mere existence and absolute idleness which is so 
seldom granted to us northern islanders, while her 

( 149 ) 


150 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


cousin, clad in flannels, with his sleeves rolled up and 
his elbows upon his knees, was placidly smoking the 
short pipe which was rather more often between his 
lips than it ought to have been at his age. 

Veronica laughed. “What makes you such a thor- 
oughly satisfactory companion, Joseph,” said she, “ is 
that you are so unsophisticated. Now, if you had been 
mixing in good society ever since the spring, as I have, 
you would have felt it simply imperative upon you to 
swear that the actual situation was a sort of foretaste of 
Paradise.” 

“Do you suppose that anything would make me 
talk such rot as that to you f ” asked Joe disgustedly. 
“ If you want to be flattered and humbugged you had 
better send for some of your smart London friends, or 
telegraph for old Mostyn, who always has a large sur- 
plus stock of sugary speeches on hand. From me, my 
beloved Veronica, you will never hear anything but the 
truth ; and the truth is that I am jolly glad to be sit- 
ting here and talking to you again.” 

“Well, didn’t I tell you that you were satisfactory? 
Only I wish you hadn’t said that you wanted more than 
you had got, because that reminds me of the quantity of 
things which I want, and am not at all likely to get — 
and my object was to put them out of mind for the 
time being.” 

Joe shook his head. “I fear, Veronica,” said he, 
“ that you did not profit as you might have done by last 
Sunday’s discourse. In all my experience I have never 
met with anyone who preached the duty of taking 


THE NEW ORDER OF THINGS. 151 

things easy more persistently than the rector of this 
parish, and I may add that I have seldom met anyone 
who practised it less. However, that is neither here 
nor there. What are all these things that you want so 
badly, if one may ask ? ” 

“ Perhaps I ought rather to have said that there are 
things of which I want to get rid,” answered Veronica; 
“ but never mind. I am rid of them temporarily, at all 
events.” 

“ How, look here, my dear girl,” said Joe impres- 
sively, “ don’t you go ridding yourself of your landed 
estates, whatever you do. Think of others. Think of 
me, for example, and of the bitter disappointment that 
it would’ be to me to be debarred from shooting your 
coverts when the time comes. I have nothing to say 
against a compromise, mind you ; I have told you, ever 
since you came back and I heard your account of that 
chap Trevor, that in my opinion you couldn’t bestow 
your affections more worthily than upon him. Then 
you would feel that you had behaved handsomely, the 
property would be his as well as yours, and everybody 
would be pleased. Because I don’t think so meanly of 
you as to imagine that you would ever consent to be- 
come his wife without stipulating that I should be in- 
vited to Broxham whenever there was a big shoot on.” 

This time Veronica did not laugh. “ Unfortunately, 
that compromise is out of the question,” she said ; “ Hor- 
ace Trevor and I are quite of one mind as to the impos- 
sibility of it.” 

“ Oh, you have talked it over together, then ? ” 


152 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ Yes, we talked it over, and we agreed that our 
mutual liking was not of the kind that could be made 
to do. Besides, there are other obstacles. I don’t know 
how I am to manage matters so as to do the best that I 
can for you all, and you have completely destroyed my 
comfort by introducing the horrid subject. Pull me 
down stream again, and let us talk about something else 
— foxes or badgers, or what you please. Wasn’t it to the 
badgers’ earths that you and Nipper went off before 
breakfast this morning ? ” 

Joe had plenty to say upon that engrossing topic, and 
was quite willing to comply with Veronica’s request. He 
never forced her confidences, being well aware that she 
generally ended by telling him almost everything, and 
having a much more real sympathy with her perplexities 
than his speech betrayed. She, on her side, knew that 
she could rely upon his comprehension and sympathy, 
but she also knew that Joe had too much common sense 
to approve of her despoiling herself of her inheritance 
in favour of Dolly Cradock, and that was why she had 
not mentioned Dolly’s name to him. Indeed, as she had 
avowed, her one great wish was to forget for a while the 
complex burdens which had come upon her together 
with what everybody still persisted in calling her ex- 
traordinary good luck. She would have to take them 
up again soon ; during those few weeks of summer she 
desired to ignore them and to revert to the old days 
when she had been less envied and a good deal less 
unenviable. 

But to put the clock back is a feat which has never 


THE NEW ORDER OF THINGS. 


153 


yet been accomplished by man or woman with any per- 
ceptible effect upon the passage of time, and although 
Veronica tried very hard to persuade herself that she 
was unchanged, her uncle and aunt were always at hand 
to point out to her what a fallacy that was. They wore 
kindness itself to her, those good people, and they had 
also — after some protest — allowed her to be kind to them 
in a pecuniary sense, which was a comfort so far as it 
went. But it would have been worse than useless even 
to hint in their hearing at her fixed determination to 
resign the estate which had been bequeathed to her, and 
it was always rather a sore point with Veronica that they 
were willing to acquiesce with such alacrity in her de- 
parture from the home of her childhood. 

“Well, you see, my dear,” Mrs. Dimsdale said, in 
answer to some tentative reproaches which were ad- 
dressed to her on that score, “ it is very much the same 
thing as if you were going to be married, and naturally 
I have always hoped that you would marry. I am sure 
I have felt it as a horrid wrench when our own girls 
have left us ; still, one knows that it is what Providence 
intended them to do, and that children can’t be chil- 
dren for ever. One thinks of their happiness, not of 
one’s own.” 

“ Only the difference between them and me is that I 
am not going to be married,” objected Veronica. 

“ Oh, you are going to be married,” returned her 
aunt, laughing. “ Perhaps, if you were to make a point 
of it, I could even tell you the name of the man whom 
you are going to marry.” 


154 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


That closed Veronica’s lips and the conversation. 
The unanimity with which all who took an interest in 
her had decided that it was her manifest destiny to be- 
come Mrs. Horace Trevor almost made her wish that 
Horace himself was less obstinately recalcitrant. The 
only dissentient voice had been that of Mr. Mostyn, and 
the moral support of Mr. Mostyn was not just then 
available, the poet having crossed the Channel to re- 
fresh himself by communings with French men of let- 
ters, among whom he was highly esteemed. Harbury 
Vale, therefore, was not what it had been in days of 
yore, nor could all the making-believe in the world ren- 
der it so; and when Joe left for Lincolnshire, in order 
to obtain practical experience of harvesting operations, 
Veronica was not disinclined to bring her own holiday 
to an end. 

It turned out, however, that her new home could not 
be prepared for her reception at quite so early a date as 
had been anticipated. Mrs. Mansfield, who was already 
at Broxham, and who had most kindly undertaken the 
management of all necessary details, wrote to say that 
there was still a great deal to be done, and that the par- 
tridges would have to remain unmolested, she feared, 
until the end of September. “ Of course, I shall be 
delighted to have you with me, dear, if you care to come 
at once ; but I am afraid it would be dreadfully dull for 
you, because we can’t ask people to stay until the bed- 
rooms have been made tidy. Poor dear Samuel lived so 
much alone latterly, and I have been obliged to dismiss 
the housekeeper, who had become so rude and independ- 


THE NEW ORDER OF THINGS. 


155 


ent that I am sure you would never have been able to 
stand her. As for Horace, he has had an invitation to 
a Scotch deer-forest, which he says he could not resist ; 
but he promises to be with us for the first of the covert- 
shooting. So please do as you like about coming here ; 
only don’t think yourself bound to lend me a hand, for, 
troublesome as it is, I can do very .well without help, 
and I should like you to have a more pleasant first im- 
pression of the place than you would get if you were to 
see it in its present dismantled condition.” 

Veronica rightly interpreted this as a meaning that 
Mrs. Mansfield was revelling in the choice of upholstery 
and did not wish to be interfered with. Accordingly, 
she remained where she was, being made heartily wel- 
come to do so, although her Aunt Elizabeth could not 
help expressing some surprise at her indifference respect- 
ing a very important matter. 

“ I really do think I should want to see my own fur- 
niture before I bought it — not to speak of engaging my 
own servants ! ” the good lady exclaimed. 

But Veronica knew that neither furniture nor serv- 
ants would be hers for long, and her wish was to shorten 
as far as might be the prelude to the pre-arranged do- 
mestic drama. She had rehearsed it all in advance — 
Horace’s arrival, which must be speedily followed by 
that of Dolly Cradock ; the opportunities that were to 
be given them for coming to a mutual understanding, 
the temporary despondency of the lovers, and then her 
own more or less graceful retirement. With a little 
management success ought to be her reward ; but she 


156 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


was impatient to begin, and it would be time enough for 
her to step upon the stage when the curtain should be 
ready to rise. 

It was through a curtain of mist and rain that her 
eyes at length beheld the large and substantial, but not 
very imposing mansion of which she was the mistress. 
A solid stone-coloured house, with a Greek portico and 
a number of bow windows, encircled by a rather meagre 
flower-garden, standing in the midst of a level park 
where there were some fine trees, and hemmed in on all 
sides by distant woods — this was what she saw as she 
was driven rapidly from the station in the carriage 
which had been sent to meet her on that stormy autumn 
evening, and she said to herself that she would, at least, 
be able to resign that residence without a single pang 
of regret. It was not in the least beautiful, and it did 
not look like the sort of place to which one could ever 
become much attached. However, when the carriage 
drew up at the door, and she was admitted into a spa- 
cious, well-lighted hall, where a cheerful wood-fire was 
blazing, and where busts, tall Oriental vases, Persian 
rugs and Japanese screens had been arranged in an ar- 
tistic fashion, she had to admit that Broxham was a 
good deal more attractive within than without. And 
the affectionate embrace of Aunt Julia, who came out 
to greet her, followed by Lord Chippenham, was pleas- 
anter than the respectful, furtive scrutiny of the butler 
and the footman, who relieved her of her wraps. Per- 
haps the servants regarded Mrs. Mansfield, who had 
engaged them, as their mistress, rather than the young 


THE NEW ORDER OF THINGS. 157 

lady from whom they had been told they were in future 
to take their orders ; and certainly Mrs. Mansfield ap- 
peared to have made herself very much at home, having, 
as she presently informed Veronica, invited one or two 
people, besides Lord Chippenham, “just to keep the 
place warm for you.” 

“ I hope you don’t mind, dear,” she added. “ You 
won’t find any of them at all troublesome to entertain.” 

Veronica did not mind in the least : on the contrary, 
she was extremely grateful to her aunt for having so 
ably replaced her, and she expressed her gratitude while 
she was being led into a comfortable library where half- 
a-dozen ladies and a couple of young men were grouped 
round the tea-table. 

“ Oh, I have done nothing,” declared Mrs. Mans- 
field, who nevertheless thought that she deserved some 
thanks. “ I have only got rid of some of poor Samuel’s 
impossible old retainers, who had already been fully pro- 
vided for in his will and who didn’t care to stay. And 
I have pulled the furniture about and spent a little of 
your money — that is all. I think you will find every- 
think in tolerably good order, and now that you have 
come, I am delighted to surrender the reins of govern- 
ment to you.” 

But it soon became evident that that surrender 
would be far from delightful to her ; nor was she called 
upon to make it, save nominally. Veronica sat at the 
head of the table and held a long obligatory conference 
with the agent and the bailiff on the following morn- 
ing; but it was Mrs. Mansfield who saw the house- 
11 


158 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


keeper after breakfast and drew up the programme for 
the day. She said : “ Perhaps I had better continue to 
look after things for you until you have shaken down 
into your place,” and she was assured that the longer 
she was kind enough to do so the better her niece would 
be pleased. 

It is not certain that Veronica, whq had clear ideas 
of the duties belonging to every station of life, would 
have been equally complaisant had she looked upon her- 
self as being in any real sense the proprietress of the 
Broxham estate ; but since she meant to turn her back 
upon it at the earliest possible opportunity she was only 
too glad to make Aunt J ulia happy by self-effacement. 
Meanwhile, she had a pleasant enough time of it for the 
next ten days. The house, if not magnificent, was com- 
fortable and home-like; there was a charming old 
walled garden within easy reach of it where one could 
wander and explore without being thought neglectful 
of one’s guests ; Aunt Julia’s friends, of whom several 
relays arrived and left during the above-mentioned 
period, were very nice easy-going sort of people, who rose 
late in the morning, seemed to be satisfied with a drive in 
the afternoon, and entertained one another. As for the 
men, they were out shooting all day long ; Lord Chip- 
penham took charge of them pending the advent of 
Horace, who was expected to make his appearance from 
Scotland shortly. That Horace, when he came, would 
act as the de facto master of the establishment was evi- 
dently taken for granted by its inmates, both permanent 
^nd temporary, Indeed, so far as grooms, gamekeepers, 


THE NEW ORDER OF THINGS. 


159 


beaters and other outdoor dependents were concerned, 
he had, it seemed, acted in that capacity for some years 
past. 

He arrived late one evening, looking very well and 
sunburnt, and Veronica noticed at once, with great sat- 
isfaction, that he had discarded the embarrassed and 
somewhat sullen manner which had provoked her dur- 
ing the latter part of her sojourn in London. This she 
took as a sign that he had now realised the absurdity of 
the misgivings as to which he had then pleaded guilty, 
and that he was ready to meet her once more upon the 
old friendly footing. Such was, in truth, his laudable 
intention and desire. Months of fresh air and hard 
exercise had done so much for him that he was able by 
this time, as he believed, to put a good face upon unal- 
terable facts. Veronica most certainly was not for him ; 
he had been a deplorable idiot to fall in love with her, 
and a still greater idiot to let her discover his idiocy ; 
but he had now come to his senses, and he hoped to 
make it quite clear to her that her friendship was all 
that he asked. Of Dolly Cradock and the circum- 
stances under which he had parted from her it has to 
be confessed that he had thought very little indeed in 
the course of an enjoyable summer and autumn. It is 
the destiny of these light-hearted young ladies to be 
forgotten as readily as they are wont to forget, and had 
not she herself said that an episode upon which it was 
not altogether pleasant to look back was to have no 
consequences ? 

“ And what have you been doing all this long time?” 


160 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


Veronica wanted to know, when lie crossed the long 
drawing-room to seat himself beside her after dinner on 
the evening of his arrival. 

“ Well,” he answered, “ I expect you would say that 
I have been doing nothing. I have been yachting a 
little, and I have been fishing and shooting. That’s 
what you call sheer waste of time, isn’t it ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; it just depends upon whether there 
was any better use for you to make of your time, and I 
should hardly thiuk that there was. Besides, I have 
been absolutely idle myself ; so that it doesn’t become 
me to condemn my neighbours.” 

“ I should have thought you would have been as 
busy as a bee,” said Horace, looking admiringly round 
him. “ You have beautified this old barrack out of all 
recognition. How do you like the place, now that you 
have taken possession of it ? ” 

“ Oh, pretty well,” answered Veronica, “ but the 
beautifying has been Aunt Julia’s work, and of course 
Broxham can never seem like home to me. I have no 
associations with it, as you have. You will find any 
number of humble friends eager to welcome you to- 
morrow, and I do hope that, in charity to me, you 
mean to stay a long time. I have already had to 
promise faithfully that you will hunt from here this 
season.” 

Horace laughed and made a grimace. “ I shall have 
to explain to these good folks that times have changed, 
I see,” said he. “ I’ll stay a week or two for the covert 
shooting, if you’ll have me ; but as for hunting, that’s 


THE NEW ORDER OF THINGS. 


161 

another affair. To begin with, I haven’t anything to 
ride.” 

“ I was to tell you that every care has been taken of 
the dun horse and the little bay, and that they are both 
of them in first-rate condition.” 

“ Glad to hear it ; but they are your horses, not 
mine, remember.” 

“ That doesn’t seem to be the general opinion. 
Uncle Samuel bought them for you, I am told ; and 
even if they are legally my property, they are of about 
as much use to me as a pair of giraffes would be. So 
please take them away, if you want to take them away, 
though we shall all feel rather hurt by your choosing to 
hunt in another country.” 

Horace could not afford to hunt in any country; 
but he did not want to keep on alluding to his poverty, 
and, as a matter of fact, the temptation held out to 
him was a very hard one to resist. Therefore, he only 
said, after a pause. “ But I can’t live here, you know, 
Veronica.” 

“ But you can stay here sometimes, as you used to 
do,” she returned. “ You have only to substitute me — 
or rather, Aunt Julia — for Uncle Samuel, and from all 
that I hear, the change will be a change for the better 
in some respects.” 

Horace did not contradict her. Later, it would no 
doubt be necessary to explain that he could not accept 
such unbounded hospitality; but for the moment he 
was unwilling to make difficulties. Besides, to tell the 
truth, he did think that it would be rather jolly 


162 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


to have just three or four more days with the old 
hounds. 

So all this was as satisfactory as possible, and 
it only remained to summon Dolly Cradock forth- 
with. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE WISDOM OE JOSEPH. 

Which of us, if we lived in a Palace of Truth, 
would not have to confess, to his shame, that there have 
been moments when he has rejoiced to see the retreat- 
ing backs of his best friends ? One’s best friends, ani- 
mated by the best intentions, have, unhappily, a way of 
sometimes behaving very like one’s worst enemies ; and 
it was, therefore, with heartfelt relief that Horace Tre- 
vor heard Lord Chippenham say — 

“Well, my dear boy, I am sorry to have to make a 
bolt for it just as you arrive, but I was due on the other 
side of England a week ago, and I have only remained 
at my post because J ulia begged me to do so until you 
came to relieve guard.” He added significantly, “ I 
hope and trust that she will have some good news to 
send me about you before long. I don’t want to inter- 
fere ; you must settle it among you in your own way, 
but what the dickens is the object of this delay is more 
than I can understand.” 

Horace took very good care not to enlighten him. 
One great comfort was that his impatience did not ap- 
pear to be shared by Mrs. Mansfield, who maintained a 

( 163 ) 


164 : 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


discreet reserve and loyally kept her promise of trou- 
bling her nephew no further, although it was easy to per- 
ceive that she had not abandoned all hope. Mrs. Mans- 
field, indeed, had the wit to realise that if the young 
man could only be kept long enough at Broxham, the 
situation would become such that there would be prac- 
tically only one way out of it. 

But this was a view of the matter which suggested 
itself neither to Horace nor to Veronica. Each being 
very far from comprehending the other, they speedily 
dropped back into their former pleasant relations, which 
could not possibly have been resumed, had they been 
less blind, and for some little time, at all events, they 
failed to notice that everybody with whom they were 
brought into contact regarded their ultimate marriage 
as a foregone conclusion. Horace and the other men 
who were staying in the house shot all day and every 
day ; in the evenings there were but few opportunities 
for private intercourse, and when Veronica did happen 
to get him alone for a few minutes, she generally prof- 
ited by the occasion to consult him upon some point 
connected with the management of the property which 
she hoped to transfer to him before he should be much 
older. It was encouraging to find that he took a keen 
interest in such questions ; nor did she ever neglect to 
mention how profoundly uninteresting they were to her. 

Deferred hope had, however, to be submitted to a 
little longer ; for Dolly Cradock, who had been prompt- 
ly communicated with, wrote to say that she would 
not be available just yet. “ I have a few engagements 


THE WISDOM OF JOSEPH. 


165 


which promise rather too well to be sacrificed,” she 
explained ; “ but I will be with you before the frost 
sets in, unless the climate plays us some nasty trick. 
My love to your cousin Horace. I hear he is having a 
rare time of it at Broxham, bossing the whole show and 
inviting whole squads of men to be entertained by you. 
Tell him not to go away before I come, and to find me 
a mount of some sort. I will say for him that he knows 
something about horses, but I don’t believe much in his 
shooting. Still, I dare say his friends help him to make 
up a respectable bag, and he must enjoy giving orders 
where he used to receive them. I hope he reads family 
prayers morning and evening in obedience to the tradi- 
tions of the house ; or do you undertake that part of 
the business ? ” 

Veronica did not deliver the above message, nor did 
she think it necessary to inform Horace that she ex- 
pected the pleasure of a visit from Miss Cradock. She 
had an impression — which happened to be perfectly cor- 
rect — that he would not like her having invited Holly 
to meet him. For her own part she found this country- 
house existence, which gave her all the advantages of 
proprietorship without its worries and responsibilities, 
much pleasanter than she had anticipated. It was en- 
joyable in itself, and seemed to afford a fitting sequel to 
her London experiences. From the moment when she 
had come so unexpectedly into her inheritance there 
had been a sense of unreality about everything that had 
occurred to her which had not been without a certain 
charm. It had been rather like reading a novel or a 


166 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


play, which may temporarily excite one’s emotions but 
which has nothing in the world to do with one’s actual 
life. Some day soon she would shake herself free of it 
all and consider practical plans for the future ; at pres- 
ent there was no occasion for her to trouble herself in 
that way. 

What gave her great satisfaction was that Joe, who 
had obtained leave to absent himself from his agricul- 
tural studies for a fortnight, and who journeyed down 
from Lincolnshire in November, struck up an imme- 
diate and fast friendship with Horace. She had not 
left the future to take care of itself so absolutely but 
that she had felt certain qualms of conscience respect- 
ing Joe, and she was most anxious that the young fel- 
low should be upon terms of intimacy with the coming 
owner of Broxham Hall. It was, accordingly, very con- 
solatory to be assured in emphatic language by one who 
had the highest confidence in his own judgment that 
Horace Trevor was one in a thousand ; while it was 
perhaps even more agreeable to hear Horace’s own ver- 
dict upon a youth who, notwithstanding his many ad- 
mirable qualities, could scarcely be called prepossessing 
in appearance. 

“ That is a capital boy ! ” Horace said. “ He knows 
a lot, and he isn’t a bit conceited about his knowledge 
either. A first-rate huntsman was lost when he came 
into the world as the son of a country parson, I can tell 
you. I took him over to the kennels yesterday and I 
was simply amazed at the way in which he picked out 
the best hounds. He didn’t require to be told which of 


THE WISDOM OF JOSEPH. 

them were straight — and, between you and me, they 
ain’t all of them straight.” 

“ They might all of them be as crooked as rams’ horns 
for anything that I should know by looking at them,” 
answered Veronica, laughing; “but I think I can gen- 
erally tell whether a man is what you^call ‘straight’ or 
not, and I am sure that epithet applies to Joe. I am so 
glad you appreciate him. You know I always told you 
that he was like you.” 

“ Oh, he’s my superior by a long way,” said Horace 
seriously, without noticing the implied compliment. 
“ That is, except as regards horsemanship — which he’ll 
soon learn. Going to be a land agent, he tells me.” 

“ Well, we hope so. In fact, I daresay he would be 

mine, if ” Veronica paused for a moment, and then 

added, “ If I hadn’t got one already.” 

“ Sutton is a good man,” remarked Horace, medita- 
tively ; “ but he isn’t as young as he used to be, and he 
is well enough off to live upon his income. I should 
think that his shoes might be vacant by the time that 
our friend Joe is ready to step into them.” 

That was so exactly what Veronica had wanted him 
to say that she had much ado to refrain from thanking 
him. She felt that if only she could see some prospect 
of Joe’s being adequately provided for, the rest would 
concern herself alone. Your friends may think you an 
idiot for throwing your money into the sea or be- 
stowing it upon a hospital, but they can not with 
any justice reproach you for doing as you please with 
your own. 


168 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LOCK. 


But although, upon the whole, things seemed to be 
moving smoothly towards the desired climax, and al- 
though Horace continued to behave in every respect as 
she would have wished, it did, as time went on, dawn 
upon her that his actual position under her roof was 
open to misconstruction. Hints ended by reaching her 
ears ; servants’ gossip was inevitably reported to her ; 
visitors, in the innocence of their hearts, made arch or 
facetious little speeches ; finally, the Vicar’s wife, a fool- 
ish, harmless old creature, who often dropped in to dis- 
cuss parochial matters, must needs ask point-blank 
whether the wedding was to take place in Broxham or 
in London. Veronica astonished her very much, but 
obviously failed to overcome her incredulity, by reply- 
ing that the wedding alluded to was not going to take 
place anywhere. She said — 

“ Oh, my dear Miss Dimsdale, if that is really the 
case, I am very sorry to hear it — very sorry indeed. 
And so, I am sure, will everybody else be. If you will 
forgive a woman who is old enough to be your mother 
for saying so, it was hardly fair to treat the poor young 
man as you have treated him unless you meant what we 
all supposed that you did.” 

That ignorant rebuke was all the more provoking 
because it was certain to be echoed by Aunt Julia and 
Lord Chippenham, not to mention the rest of Veronica’s 
little world. “ I can’t be thankful enough,” she said to 
herself rather impatiently, “ that there is a Dolly Cra- 
dock in the field. But for her, I really believe I should 
be driven to marry Horace against his will. I wish she 


THE WISDOM OF JOSEPH. 


169 


would make haste about coming here — this can’t be 
allowed to go on much longer.” 

Horace, for different reasons, was rapidly approach- 
ing a similar conviction. Knowing that it was quite 
out of the question for him to ask Veronica to be his 
wife, and having heard from her own lips that he would 
most assuredly be rejected even if he did, he had long 
ago decided that his incipient love for her was a senti- 
ment which must be nipped in the bud ; and what with 
fishing, yachting, and shooting, he had, as he fondly 
imagined, pretty effectually nipped it. But he ought 
never to have been so imprudent as to yield to Aunt 
Julia’s solicitations and establish himself upon his pres- 
ent footing at Broxham. What had been the result of 
this misplaced confidence in his self-control ; of this 
uncalled-for playing into the hands of officious well- 
wishers ; of this valorous determination to fall in with 
Veronica’s own wishes and look as if he liked it? Why, 
simply that the bud had burst into full bloom ; that, 
instead of being a little in love with her (as he had 
been with many others before her) he now worshipped 
the very ground she trod upon ; that every day and 
every hour he was in danger of betraying himself, and 
that more than once he had surprised himself in the 
criminal act of wondering whether, after all, he was 
bound as an honourable man to abandon all hppe. To 
have reached the point of contemplating what he 
and she had agreed to regard as a moral impossi- 
bility was more than perilous; it must be taken as a 
sign that the only course remaining open to him 


170 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


was to flourish a clean pair of heels in the face of 
temptation. 

Now, it came to pass that one afternoon, when he 
was in rather low spirits and had been inwardly debat- 
ing with himself what plausible excuse he could make 
for abruptly taking himself off, Joe and he went out 
together for an hour of desultory shooting. It hap- 
pened that there was just then a break in the flow of 
Mrs. Mansfield’s guests ; the coverts were to be left un- 
disturbed for a time; nobody’s amusement had to be 
catered for ; and Horace, true to the resolution which 
he had formed of avoiding Veronica’s society as far as 
was consistent with politeness, quitted the house im- 
mediately after luncheon, accompanied by his young 
friend, who was always ready for sport in any shape or 
form. After knocking over a few rabbits, they pro- 
ceeded to some marshy ground, where Joe brought 
down a couple of snipe cleverly enough ; but Horace, 
never at the best of times a first-class shot, missed 
everything, and was at length seriously remonstrated 
with by his companion. 

“ Do you mean to go on like this ? ” Joe inquired in 
sorrowful accents. “ Because, if you do, it seems to me 
that we may as well get back home and play bil- 
liards. Not that you’re fit to play anything in your 
present condition. What’s wrong with you, if one 
may make so bold as to ask? — liver or mental dis- 
tress ? ” 

“ I have never been conscious of having a liver in 
my life,” answered Horace. “ As for mental distress — 


THE WISDOM OF JOSEPH. 171 

well, you’re old enough to understand that I must have 
reasons for being a bit worried at times.” 

Joe scrutinised the other’s perturbed countenance 
for a moment with a whimsical expression upon his 
own, and then, withdrawing the cartridges from his 
gun, deliberately sat down upon the trunk of a fallen 
tree. 

“We won’t shoot any more; we’ll smoke a quiet 
pipe,” said he. “ I’m old enough for anything, and 
wise beyond my years, as you may have noticed. In 
fact, I have heard you admit as much. Well, such is 
my wisdom that, without requiring to be told, I know 
perfectly well what is the matter with you.” 

“You do, do you?” returned Horace, with a rather 
dreary, incredulous laugh, as he obeyed the self-con- 
fident youth’s invitation. 

“I do. Moreover, I don’t claim any great credit 
for the discovery, which might have been made by any- 
body with eyes and ears and a moderate amount of 
telligence. It isn’t that you are a poor man instead of 
being a rich one, as you naturally expected to be by 
this time : it isn’t that you are beginning to kick 
against a false position ” 

“ Yes, it is ! ” interrupted Horace. 

“Kindly allow me to finish my remarks. I was 
going to say that it is simply that you have lost your 
heart to the very person whom of course you ought to 
marry, and that you daren’t tell her so for fear she 
shouldn’t believe you. Now, that is sheer foolishness, 
and ” 


172 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“You cheeky boy ! What do you mean by lectur- 
ing your elders and betters in this way ? ” interrupted 
Horace again, though in truth he was not very sorry to 
be furnished with a confidant. “ You are not alto- 
gether wrong, I’ll allow ; but you don’t know quite as 
much as you think.” 

“ I shall be pleased to listen to anything more that 
you may have to tell me upon the subject,” answered 
Joe blandly. 

Horace needed no pressing. Without wasting time 
or words over it fre unfolded his lamentable case, relat- 
ing how Veronica and he had agreed at the outset to be 
friends and nothing more ; how, in spite of that agree- 
ment, he had found himself falling in love with her ; 
how she had at once discovered his unwilling treachery, 
and had let him know in the plainest terms what she 
thought of it ; how he had valiantly attempted to con- 
quer a hopeless passion, and how he had, for the second 
time, ignominiously failed. “ So you see,” he con- 
cluded, “ I must get out of this before I make an even 
greater fool of myself than I have done already. And 
I’m sorry for it, because I know there will be a fuss 
with Aunt Julia, and most likely I shall have to confess 
the whole truth.” 

“ Best thing you can do,” observed Joe laconically. 
“ You haven’t confessed the whole truth yet, you 
know.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked the other 
staring. “ I have confessed it to Veronica, at all 
events.” 


THE WISDOM OF JOSEPH. \ 73 

“ Oh, no ; that’s just what you haven’t done. You 
have never asked her to marry you.” 

“ Of course I haven’t. For one thing, I don’t 
want to marry her, and for another thing, she 
has told me, without waiting to be asked, that she 
wouldn’t marry me if I were the only man in the 
world.” 

“ Ah ! but in cases of this kind the best of women 
tell fibs. They feel bound to do it, just as they feel 
bound to say that they wouldn’t have accepted an 
invitation to dinner which hadn’t reached them. Now, 
look here, Trevor : I don’t set up to be much of an 
authority upon falling in love ; the whole thing seems 
to me to be rather rot and to make people unfit for de- 
( cent society while it lasts ; but I suppose it is a calamity 
which is sure to come upon us all sooner or later, 
and when it attacks me I hope I shall have common 
sense enough to go straight to the young woman and 
tell her what is the matter. She may object to red 
hair, in which case I shall know where I am and wish 
her good morning ; but I shan’t be quite such a muff as 
to turn tail without firing a shot. As for your not 
wanting to marry Veronica, you had better tell that to 
somebody who has been more lucky than your humble 
servant and has obtained a commission in the marines. 
What you really mean is that you are afraid she will 
think you want her money, not herself — which is a 
precious poor compliment to pay to her understanding. 
You may take my word for it that if Veronica refuses 

you, it will be only because she doesn’t care enough for 
12 


174 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


you to be your wife. But I don’t myself think that she 
will refuse you.” 

“ My dear boy, you know nothing at all about it,” 
said Horace. 

“ That’s what remains to be seen. Anyhow, I’ve 
given you the soundest of sound advice. There’s noth- 
ing disgraceful in falling in lovg with an heiress, and, 
as far as I can make out, very few men think that 
there’s anything disgraceful in marrying an heiress 
without falling in love with her ; but upon my word, I 
think it’s rather disgraceful to slink olf silently because 
you funk an accusation which no woman in her senses 
would be likely to make. Dixi! How we’ll go home 
before we catch colds in our heads. By-the-way, there’s 
just one more thing which I had better warn you of, 
perhaps. When Veronica accepts you — as she will — 
the odds are that she won’t give her real reason for 
accepting you. You mustn’t mind that; it’s only 
another little way that women have, and after you 
have been married a few days, she’ll own that she 
wasn’t absolutely candid about it at the time.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

VERONICA’S REPLY. 

No man can give clearer proof that he possesses a 
well-balanced mind than by showing himself ready to 
listen to the opinions of his juniors, who may not be 
experienced as he, yet may quite possibly be more 
acute ; and it is noticeable that the greatest generals, 
statesmen, and other leaders of their fellow-mortals 
have always displayed this modest toleration. Only 
dull people are under the delusion that they necessarily 
become more clever as they grow older. Horace Tre- 
vor, therefore, being modest enough to believe that he 
was very dull indeed, thought it quite upon the cards 
that Joe Dimsdale might take the right view of the sit- 
uation (at all events in so far as it behoved him to fire a 
shot before running away), and he would have been 
glad to pursue the subject as he strolled homewards 
with his juvenile but sapient adviser. But Joe, who 
had said all that he had to say, preferred to discuss the 
best means to be adopted for discouraging the use of 
barbed wire — a very serious question, as to which he had 
ideas of his own and desired to promulgate them. He 
said — 


( 175 ) 


170 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ What you have to make up your minds to is that 
there must be no difficulty about the damage fund. Of 
course claims are sent in for turkeys that never were 
hatched and gates and hurdles that never existed, but it 
is a good deal cheaper to pay what you don’t owe than 
to have your neck broken and your best hounds killed. 
It isn’t a bit of good to tell farmers that hunting brings 
money into the country ; you must have a civil word for 
each of them when they come out and you mustn’t ask 
too many questions about their losses. Once get them 
on your side, and you won’t be bothered with that mur- 
derous wire, the inventor of which, I grant you, would 
be flayed alive if he got his deserts.” 

To these and other sage observations of a like nature 
Horace returned an absent-minded assent. His eyes 
were wandering hither and thither across the grey, level 
landscape, as if in search of something, although he had 
no conscious anticipation of discerning the tall feminine 
figure which presently came within the range of his vision. 
But when he saw that it was really Veronica who was 
approaching them — and who, as a matter of fact, was 
on her way home from the village, after fulfilling one 
of her duties by visiting the poor — he was seized with 
an absurd panic and would fain have taken to his heels. 
After what had passed, it seemed to him that he must 
at once act upon the advice that he had received ; so he 
said hurriedly : “ Stick to me, there’s a good chap ! I 
ain’t ready yet.” 

Joe stared, and then burst out laughing, but he had 
no time to give the required promise — or, at any rate, 


VERONICA’S REPLY. 


177 


he didn’t give it — before Veronica was within earshot 
and raised her voice to enquire what sport they had 
had. 

“ Middling, my dear, only middling, I am sorry to 
tell you,” he replied. “ Trevor is no use this afternoon, 
and it saddens me to shoot with a man who is no use ; 
so we’re toddling home, although the light will last for 
a good three-quarters of an hour more.” 

“ I am glad of that,” remarked Veronica, drawing 
nearer and joining them ; “ I am always glad when the 
poor birds get off, even if it only means that they will 
live to die another day. Why can’t you shoot at glass 
balls or clay pigeons? They are quite as difficult to hit, 
aren’t they ? ” 

“ A pigeon-shot is one thing and a game-shot is 
another,” answered Joe didactically. “You might just 
as well say that it is as difficult to write prose as poetry, 
by way of putting the extinguisher upon all poets — and 
I daresay strength would be given me to bear it if you 
did extinguish the lot. Now, I’ll tell you what it is, 
Veronica : you know you can’t convert me, because you 
have so often tried, without a shred of success. Sup- 
pose you bring your powerful arguments to bear upon 
Trevor, who has an open mind — because he isn’t really 
fond of shooting at all— while I nip back for half an 
hour and see whether I can’t bring conviction home to 
a few more snipe.” 

The faithless young reprobate strode off then and 
there. He even had the impudence to glance back over 
his shoulder with a wink at the comrade whom he had 


178 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


thus basely left in the lurch, and who gave a great gasp 
of despair. 

But Veronica, innocent of this by-play, was very will- 
ing to let him depart in peace. During the earlier part 
of the afternoon she had been thinking that she ought 
to let Horace know how completely their amicable un- 
derstanding had been misinterpreted by the general 
public, and this appeared to be as good an opportunity 
as another for setting him upon his guard. However, 
she had not yet hit upon an easy and natural method of 
leading up to the subject when he forestalled her by 
blurting out — 

“ I say ! — I’m afraid I shall have to leave you before 
long. I’ve enjoyed myself awfully, and I’m sure you 
have done all you could to give me a real good time of 
it ; but — but, in fact, I find it won’t do ! ” 

“ I hope,” said Veronica, her face clouding over a 
little, “ that you are not going back to the old ridiculous 
mistake that you made in London.” 

“ Oh, well, if you call it a mistake ! ” 

“ It was a mistake,” Veronica asserted, rather fiercely ; 
“ you might accept my word for that, I think. Surely I 
ought to know ! ” 

“ I don’t doubt your word ; I never doubted it for a 
moment,” returned Horace. “ As far as that goes, I am 
not sure that I ever made the mistake you mean. Still, 
you know ” 

“ I know that everybody assumes we are either en- 
gaged to be married or going to be engaged, and I was 
going to speak to you about it. It is very unpleasant, 


VERONICA’S REPLY. 


179 


and, for some reasons, I should not be at all sorry if you 
were to go away soon. Only there are other reasons 
which make me wish that you could stay a little longer.” 

“ I’m useful, I suppose,” said Horace, a trifle bitterly. 
“Aunt Julia is never weary of telling me how useful I 
am. Well, goodness knows I ask nothing better than to 
be of use to you. All the same, I doubt whether it’s 
quite honest, and I’m beginning to feel that it’s quite 
impossible to keep up this pretence.” 

“ I am with you there,” agreed Veronica more com- 
posedly. “ I think it has gone on long enough, and we 
should have done better never to let it begin ; but what 
is to be done? Shall I speak to Aunt Julia or will 
you?” 

“ I don’t care a brass farthing what Aunt Julia may 
believe or wish for,” the young man returned. “ You 
don’t seem to understand what I mean. The intolerable 
thing to me is that I have been keeping up, or trying to 
keep up, a pretence with you. Upon my honour, I 
wouldn’t have come here when you asked me if I hadn’t 
thought it would be all right; but — it isn’t all right, 
Veronica, and I ought to have known that it wouldn’t 
be. I’m very sorry for it, that’s all I can say. After all, 
I don’t see that I am so very much to blame.” 

Veronica stood still, and wonderingly took stock of 
her agitated companion. His fatuity seemed almost in- 
credible ; yet if he did not mean that he was still solici- 
tous lest her maiden affections should have been bestowed 
upon one who was unable to reciprocate them, it was dif- 
ficult to comprehend what he did mean. 


180 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ What are you talking about ? ” she asked at length. 
“ I suppose you know,” he answered ; “ it is the old 
mistake, as you are pleased to call it. My idea was that, 
after having been away all this time, I should be able to 
do as you wished and behave as if nothing had happened ; 
but really it’s more than flesh and blood can stand ! We 
shall still be friends, I hope — why shouldn’t we ? — but I 
can’t stay under your roof and eat your bread any longer. 
At any rate, not for the present. I can’t let you suppose 
that I have changed, or shall ever change. J oe has been 
favouring me with his advice this afternoon, and I believe 
he is right. I ought to propose to you in due form and 
be rejected in due form. Then it will be only the natu- 
ral and proper thing for me to go away and remain away 
until — until you marry some other fellow.” 

“ I can’t imagine,” said Veronica loftily, “ what rea- 
son Joe can have had for giving you such advice as that. 
Why is it necessary for you to be rejected, and why 
should it be necessary for you to propose to me ? ” 

“ Only because I love you,” returned Horace, turning 
rather red in the face (for he thought she might have 
been a little more kind to him, considering the painful 
predicament in which he was placed). “ I take it that 
most people would consider that a sufficient reason.” 

Veronica started away from his side with a quick 
gesture of dismay. 

“Oh, Horace!” she exclaimed, “you don’t really 
mean that, do you? What a dreadfully unfortunate 
complication it would make if it were true ! ” 

“ Mean it !” he returned, a little resentfully. “ As if 


VERONICA’S REPLY. 


181 


you didn’t know that I meant it ! Didn’t you tell me so 
in London, when you said that you were disappointed in 
me, and that we were to consider the whole incident 
wiped out, and all that? Well, the long and the short 
of it is that I have done my best to oblige you, and that 
I haven’t succeeded. You are the only woman in the 
world for me, Veronica, and you have told me already 
that if I were the only man in the world you wouldn’t 
marry me. All you have to do now is to say that again, 
and I’ll be off to-morrow morning. It is better for you 
and better for me that the truth should be put into plain 
words which can be repeated to other people. Then 
everybody will feel that there is no more to be said.” 

“ But, indeed, there is a great deal more to be said,” 
Veronica declared. “ You have so taken me by surprise 
that I hardly know how or where to begin ; and if I did 
not thoroughly trust you — however, I am sure I may 
trust you. It was I who made a mistake in London. I 
thought, when you spoke, that you were alluding to 
something altogether different. I thought — was I really 
wrong? — that the woman whom you would marry, if 
you could afford to marry her, was Dolly Cradock.” 

“ Dolly Cradock ! ” ejaculated Horace scornfully ; 
and the fact is that, at the moment, he had no recollec- 
tion at all of those tender passages by the light of the 
moon which had been recorded against him. 

“ Yes ; I certainly thought so, and I have based all 
my projects upon that presumption. She is coming 
here soon, and I may as well tell you now that I 
counted upon her to help me in bringing about my 


182 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


heart’s desire, which is to see you established where you 
ought to be — as master of all this land. Don’t inter- 
rupt ; I quite understand that you wouldn’t accept it as 
a gift from me, but you might have been induced to 
accept it — at any rate, I hoped you would — as a sort of 
marriage-portion, without which you would have had to 
relinquish her. And now the relinquishing will have 
to be done by me, for I must give up my scheme. Oh ! 
there is no need for you to tell me that. You would 
never have said that you loved me unless it had been a 
fact — only it is a most unfortunate and vexatious fact.” 

Unquestionably it was, and Horace could not but 
feel it to be so, although he deemed it due to himself to 
explain quite clearly to Veronica that under no imagi- 
nable circumstances could he have consented to deprive 
her of an acre of the land upon which they were stand- 
ing. He wound up a forcible statement to that effect 
by remarking — 

“ I don’t know what extraordinary notions you can 
have taken into your head, or what you can have sup- 
posed that I have been driving at all this time ; but I 
am glad, at least, that you don’t doubt my love. Most 
girls would have suspected that I had been a humbug 
from first to last, and that the property was what I had 
had my eye upon all along ; and I shouldn’t have been 
entitled to reproach you if you had been like most 
girls. But, of course, you aren’t,” he concluded with a 
sigh. 

Veronica walked on for some twenty or thirty yards 
without speaking. “ So this was what you meant me 


VERONICA’S REPLY. 


183 


to understand that day when you came to lunch in 
South Audley Street ! ” she ejaculated at length— and, 
somehow, the explanation was not wholly unpleasant 
to her. “ What an ungrateful wretch you must have 
thought me ! ” 

“Oh, no, Veronica; I didn’t think that,” he an- 
swered, laughing a little; “it was hardly a case for 
gratitude, was it? But 1 confess that I did think you 
were rather more severe with me than I had deserved. 
One can’t very well help these things, you see, and as 
soon as ever I realised my danger, I tried to give you a 
wide berth. What, of course, I had no business to do 
was to come here ; but, as I said before, I honestly 
believed it would be all right. And now I can’t help 
agreeing with Joe that the most straightforward plan is 
to speak out. You refuse me, I take myself off, and 
there’s an end of it.” 

“Did Joe assume that I should refuse you? ’’Ve- 
ronica inquired. 

“Well, no; to tell you the truth he didn’t. He is 
only a boy, and you can no more .expect him to look at 
the matter from our point of view than you can expect 
it of Aunt Julia and the General, who are old and more 
or less sensible. Naturally, he sees what they see — that 
our marriage would make things very comfortable all 
round.” 

“ But that is just what I have always seen myself,” 
observed Veronica reflectively. “ I treated it as being 
out of the question because I was persuaded that you 
really cared for Dolly Cradock ; but if you are sure — 


18 J. A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 

quite sure— that it is not so, it would make a differ- 
ence.” 

“A difference!” gasped the young man, who could 
hardly believe his ears. “ Oh, Veronica, is it possible — 
do you actually mean that you could care for me 
enough to marry me ? ” 

Veronica smiled. “Why not?” she asked. “I 
care a great deal for you — more than I do for anybody 
else, I think, except, perhaps, J oseph. Ah ! but stop a 
moment ! ” she continued, as Horace let his gun slip 
from his grasp and made a sudden attempt to seize her 
by both hands. “ Hear me out before you make up 
your mind to accept all I have to offer. I am not in 
love with you ; I don’t even know what the sensation 
means. Yes, you may look incredulous, but it is a fact 
that I have never been in love in my life, and although 
I dare say no man of my age is in the same case, proba- 
bly a good many girls are. It would be better if I 
could say that I have lost my heart to you ; but there is 
no use in saying what is not true. Can you be satisfied 
with a promise that I will try to be a good wife to you 
and that I like you well enough to be extremely happy 
with you ? ” 

It is doubtful whether such terms have ever yet 
been rejected by an ardent lover. Who does not hope 
for the best and feel a slight complacent confidence in 
himself when he is assured that he has no rival ? What 
might have given Horace pause was the reflection that 
the other party to this somewhat one-sided bargain was 
just the sort of person to disregard her own wishes and 


VERONICA’S REPLY. 


185 


interests ; but one cannot think of everything at a mo- 
ment’s notice, and there was only room in his mind 
for an immense thankfulness. The woman whom he 
adored was willing to marry him ! — what remained but 
to execute capers and indulge in demonstrations which 
had to be promptly checked? 

"V eronica said that there must not be anything of 
that kind, please. This was not a love-match — at any 
rate, she could not personally regard it in that light 
yet — and she hoped he would be kind enough not to 
alter his demeanour towards her in any way for the 
present. 

“ I am very glad that you care for me, and very 
much flattered,” she declared, “for the looking-glass 
tells me every morning how few attractions I have ; but 
I can’t make myself feel what I don’t feel. You must 
have patience with me.” 

Horace did not hesitate to affirm that his patience 
would be found equal to that of Job. It never oc- 
curred to him to ask why, under the circumstances, she 
should consent to become his wife ; nor, oddly enough, 
did he make any allusion to the money and lands over 
which he would now exercise the rights of mastership. 

In this last particular, however, his instincts were 
probably sound. Veronica knew very well that he was 
not actuated by sordid motives, and she would most 
likely have been hurt if he had thought it needful to 
enter a plea of “ Not Guilty.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE UNDESIRABLE GUEST. 

A joyous and exultant woman was Mrs. Mansfield 
that evening. She said to herself, and she took pen 
and paper henceforth for the purpose of saying through 
the post to Lord Chippenham, that she had known 
quite well all along how it would .be. Nothing had 
been required except a little judicious management and 
masterly inaction, both of which excellent methods she 
ventured to think that she had employed with success. 
Veronica, no doubt, was a difficult subject for experi- 
ment, and Horace (by reason of his exaggerated consci- 
entiousness) not so easy as the general run of young 
men ; still they had both been made to walk along the 
track marked out for them by Providence, and, for all 
her natural modesty, she could not but recognise that 
Providence had found in her a valuable auxiliary. But 
in speaking to the bride-elect she was careful to abstain 
from any approach to boastfulness. 

“ You have made your own choice, my dear, and in 
my opinion yon have chosen most wisely,” was all that 
she said, after the embracings appropriate to the occa- 
sion had been gone through. To which Veron- 
(186) 


THE UNDESIRABLE GUEST. 187 

ica responded demurely, “ I was sure you would 
think so.” 

“No one knowing Horace Trevor as well as I do 
could help thinking so. Even poor dear Samuel did 
not contrive to make him turn out badly; although, 
with the restrictions that were placed upon him, he 
might have been expected to run as wild as the son of 
an Evangelical clergyman. You will have one of the 
very best husbands in England, Veronica, and I only 
hope you appreciate your good luck. The one thing 
that I should make so bold as to recommend — because 
it is always best that the husband should be master — is 
that you should transfer your estate to him on your 
wedding day. But of course you will do as you please 
about that.” 

Veronica fully intended to act in the manner sug- 
gested, and she had no doubt at all that her future lord 
and master would prove a kind one. To be sure, she 
was not in love with him, nor was she able to regard 
him with any special veneration ; but these were trifles 
in comparison with the really important and most for- 
tunate fact that he had become enamoured of her. To 
have turned her back upon so grand an opportunity of 
undoing the mischief wrought by a perverse testator 
would have been nothing short of criminal folly. More- 
over, she was quite fond enough of Horace for all prac- 
tical purposes. She did not intend to take her cue 
from him in matters of opinion, nor, she imagined, 
would he be so unreasonable as to expect that from her. 
On the contrary, it was far more likely that his opinion 


188 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


would be modified and influenced by hers. But she 
was more than willing to make him a wedding present 
of her landed property, while she thought it would 
probably be as well to hand him over three fourths of 
her personalty into the bargain. Some proportion of 
her income it would be advisable for her to retain, 
on account of Joseph and of the good folks at Har- 
bury Vale. 

The good folks at Harbury Vale wrote to congratu- 
late her in language which bore all the impress of heart- 
felt sincerity. ■ “ In every respect suitable and desir- 
able,” was the comment of the Reverend John, who 
added that nothing would give him greater satisfaction 
than to officiate at a ceremony for which no date had as 
yet been appointed. Mrs. Diinsdale, for her part, called 
Heaven to witness that what she had been hoping and 
praying for ever since her dear niece had first been 
removed from her care had come to pass. “ And it was 
impossible to feel any confidence about it, because I 
knew that you would never be swayed in the least by 
considerations of expediency, dear, and that nothing 
would induce you to marry a man whom you do not 
love.” 

If this last assertion caused Veronica to wince for a 
moment, it did not shake her faith in the wisdom of 
the course to which she was committed, and she had 
the comfort of being cordially approved of by Joe, for 
whose judgment she had more respect than she had for 
that of her aunt. 

Joe was about to return to Lincolnshire, having 


THE UNDESIRABLE GUEST. 


189 


reached the end of his holiday. Before leaving he 
thought it incumbent upon him to say a few serious 
words to Veronica, although he had up to that moment 
fallen in with what was evidently her wish, and had 
treated her engagement as a mere foregone conclusion 
and a subject for occasional good-humoured chaff. 

“Don’t overdo it, you know,” said he. “It’s all 
very fine, this refusal to make a fool of yourself and 
this determination to behave just as before ; but Trevor, 
you mu§t hear in mind, is a matter-of-fact sort of chap, 
and if you go on impressing upon him at every turn 
that you have only a lukewarm sort of affection for 
him, who knows whether he may not end by believing 
you.” 

“ But he does believe me ! ” Veronica declared. 
“ Not, of course, that my affection for him is lukewarm, 
which it isn’t, but that it is not the kind of affection 
which would ever lead me to make a fool of myself. 
That is perfectly understood between us, and we are 
quite satisfied that it should be so.” 

“ So you are pleased to say ; but you see, my dear 
Veronica, I have had the advantage, which Trevor 
hasn’t had, of knowing you from your youth up, and 
you can’t deceive me. I suppose it is just possible that 
you may be deceiving yourself ; hut the real truth is 
that if Trevor were to throw you over now, you would 
be inconsolable. Consequently, as I said before, I 
wouldn’t overdo it if I were you.” 

Veronica was much amused by this solemn warning ; 
yet subsequent self-examination revealed to her the fact 
13 


190 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


that it would go a deal against the grain with her to 
surrender Horace to somebody else — to Dolly , Cradock, 
for instance — and this was really quite a pleasant dis- 
covery. It did not, indeed, show that she was in love; 
but it seemed to show that she was by no means so 
indifferent to her privileges as she had fancied herself. 

In truth, Horace was so scrupulous in refraining 
from any assertion of his own privileges, so amenable, so 
willing to accept whatever position she might be pleased 
to assign him, that common gratitude compelled her to 
favour him with a larger share of her company than she 
might have granted had he been less diffident. Their 
conversations were scarcely those of lovers, but their 
conduct appeared to lookers-on to be all that is cus- 
tomary in the case of two persons so situated, and they 
were very happy together, discussing plans for the 
future and arranging how Horace was to get himself 
placed on the Commission of the Peace as soon as pos- 
sible and create other occupations for himself, since he 
had no ambition to enter Parliament. By tacit mutual 
consent Dolly Cradock’s name was not introduced into 
these colloquies; but one morning the post brought 
Veronica a communication from that young lady, who 
had by no means forgotten the invitation which she had 
accepted, and who gave notice of her imminent arrival. 
Veronica put this missive into her pocket and went out 
to the stable-yard in search of Horace, who was gen- 
erally to be found there after breakfast. When she 
joined him he was anxiously examining the back of the 
dun horse, which had been slightly touched on the 


THE UNDESIRABLE GUEST. 


191 


previous day, and it was some minutes before she could 
secure his undivided attention. This gave her time to 
reflect how different his tastes were from her own and 
what a much more intelligent interest her correspond- 
ent would have taken in the information which he im- 
parted to her than she could affect. But, after all, he 
knew that as well as she did, and certainly he did not 
look in the least overjoyed when she mentioned casually, 
as they walked away, that Dolly Cradock was coming. 

“ Dolly Cradock ! ” he ejaculated, with a dropped 
jaw. “ What on earth does she want here ? ” 

“Well, I asked her, you know,” answered Veronica. 
“ Don’t you remember my telling you that I had asked 
her?” 

“ Oh, yes ; I think I do recollect your having said 
something about it ; but I hoped — at least, I thought it 
was only a sort of vague general invitation.” 

“It was as precise as possible; and she means to 
hunt, and she expects you to mount her, too. I forget 
whether I told you that.” 

.“No, you didn’t tell me that. Well, she can have 
the bay ; there isn’t anything else for her. One com- 
fort is that she does understand horses and that she can 
be trusted not to kill them — which is more than can be 
said for nine women out of ten. All the same, I rather 
wish she wasn’t going to favour us with the light of her 
countenance. I suppose she has heard — eh ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; she has heard,” answered Veronica, 
laughing a little. “ It seems to me that every man, 
woman, and child in England has heard by this time. 


192 A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 

Anyhow, it is no fault of Aunt Julia’s if a single person 
remains in ignorance.” 

“ And what does she say about it ? ”* the young man 
inquired, with a somewhat apprehensive glance at his 
betrothed. 

“Nothing worth repeating,” replied Veronica — for 
the truth was that Miss Cradock’s comments had 
savoured of impertinence, and that she had been the 
least bit in the world put out by them. “What is 
there to be said to people who are engaged to be mar- 
ried ? Anybody who could invent an original remark, 
appropriate to the occasion, might dispose of it at a 
profit, I should think.” 

Horace did not press his question ; but, after a 
pause, he observed meditatively, “ Dolly Cradock isn’t a 
bad sort in her way ; only I can’t imagine that you and 
she will ever hit it off together.” 

“ Perhaps we shall not try very hard,” Veronica re- 
turned ; “ it is rather more important just now that you 
should hit it off with her — and I know that you can do 
that. In fact, I was so certain of it a short time ago 
that I fully intended you to marry her and live happily 
ever afterwards.” 

Horace uttered an exclamation of reproachful pro- 
test ; but he did not feel quite comfortable, nor was he 
at all eager to enlarge upon this particular topic. Sun- 
dry episodes recurred to his memory — episodes which 
he had cheerfully dismissed to the limbo of forgotten and 
more or less deplorable things, just as a penitent who 
has been absolved by his father-confessor ceases to vex 


THE UNDESIRABLE GUEST. 


103 


himself over whitewashed peccadilloes. But, now that 
Horace came to think of it, it did not seem so certain 
that he had received absolution. He might even he 
made to ask for it, which would be most unpleasant. 
Why, he wondered, had he been such an infernal ass ; 
and to this query echo only returned the usual unmean- 
ing and uncivil response. 

However, he really might have known Dolly Cra- 
dock better than to fear that she would put forward 
claims which could not be upheld for a moment. As 
he himself had said, she was “ not a bad sort,” and his 
esteem for her was much enhanced by her demeanour 
towards him when she arrived. For she shook him 
cordially by the hand, gave him joy, and appeared to 
have retained no inopportune reminiscences of riverside 
scenes or moonlit gardens. She only indulged in one 
remark of which the taste struck him as a little doubtful. 

“ You are prepared for a few days with the hounds 
and me while your liberty lasts, I hope,” she said, stand- 
ing in the hall, where a group of Mrs. Mansfield’s 
guests had formed itself round her. “ What are you 
going to do about hunting after you have entered the 
estate of holy matrimony? Will Veronica make you 
drop it, or will she insist upon trying to follow you ? 
It has generally to be the one thing or the other in cases 
of this kind, I notice.” 

Veronica hastened to reply that it was going to be 
neither the one thing nor the other in her case ; and 
then, as it was time to dress for dinner, Miss Cradock 
was conducted upstairs to her bedroom. 


194 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


A few of the neighbours had been bidden to dinner 
that evening, and a good many more had been invited 
to join an informal dance at a later hour. Mrs. Mans- 
field had opined that something ought to be done in 
the way of mild festivity; so this entertainment had 
been decided upon, Veronica assenting — as, indeed, she 
was always ready to assent to any such proposition of 
her aunt’s — although dancing did not happen to be a 
form of relaxation which had any charms for her person- 
ally. Of late years dancing has been going rapidly out 
of fashion, and good dancers, as some of us who are no 
longer young used to know to our sorrow, were never at 
any time too plentiful in this favoured land. Still, 
there have always been a few here and there, and of this 
select band Dolly Cradock was a survivor. As for 
Horace, he could get along well enough when he had a 
capable, resolute partner and plenty of space; so that 
he quite distinguished himself on the occasion of Miss 
Dimsdale’s first etfort at county hospitality. If it was 
not with his arm round Miss Dimsdale’s waist that he 
earned this well-merited distinction, he was in no way 
to blame for that. Veronica walked through two sets of 
Lancers and spent the rest of the evening in conversa- 
tion, as did the majority of those whom she was exert- 
ing herself to entertain. Why, she reasonably asked, 
should one make oneself and everybody else uncom- 
fortable by attempting feats which one is powerless to 
perform ? 

Why indeed ! That was just what Dolly Cradock 
happened to be thinking at the time, and she did not 


THE UNDESIRABLE GUEST. 


195 


acquit her hostess of having erred prodigiously in the 
above-named respect, notwithstanding Veronica’s ab- 
stention from performances in which she herself ex- 
celled. Dolly flattered herself that she was no mean 
judge of men, and she foresaw that nothing save the 
most extreme discomfort could come to her poor friend 
Horace Tre\*>r from the alliance which it had pleased 
other people to arrange for him. 

But she was kind enough not to tell him so. She 
had sat next to him at dinner, aud her behaviour had 
been of a nature to reassure him completely. Dolly 
may or may not have been a good judge of men ; but it 
is certain that Horace was a very poor judge of women, 
or he never would have jumped to the conclusion that 
his perfidy had been so readily condoned. As it was, he 
laughed inwardly at his vanished apprehensions, saying 
to himself that of course there had been no serious 
meaning in what had taken place some months before, 
and that Dolly had probably never given the subject a 
second thought. He therefore felt free to dance with 
her as often as she pleased — which was the whole even- 
ing through. 

“This is what I call thoroughly jolly!” he re- 
marked, during an interval of violent exercise. “ An 
empty room, a first-rate floor, music not so bad, and the 
very best partner I have ever had in my life — I don’t 
know what more one could want.” 

“ Poor little man ! ” said Dolly compassionately ; “ it 
doesn’t take a great deal to make him happy, does it ? 
Not that I shouldn’t be fairly well contented myself if 


196 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


this place belonged to me — or was going to belong to 
me. I suppose, by the way, that it is going to belong 
to you?” 

“ Oh, well, it is going to be my home anyhow,” 
answered Horace hesitatingly. 

“ H’m ! — the dogs and cats of the establishment 
might say as much as that. One can’t ^tpect to get 
everything in his world, though, and I daresay you will 
be kindly treated so long as you behave yourself. You 
are a good deal better off, at all events, than some un- 
fortunate fellows who have had to marry for money and 
who have been driven to espouse shrewish old vixens.” 

“ But I am not marrying for money,” Horace felt 

tit 

constrained to return ; “ I would have married Veronica 
— that is, if she would have had me and if I could have 
afforded it — under any circumstances.” 

“Honour bright?” asked Dolly, raising her eye- 
brows slightly. 

He nodded, and was rather pleased with himself 'for 
having had the courage to be so explicit ; although as a 
matter of fact, it would have been both wiser and more 
considerate on his part to let his neighbour’s insinua- 
tions pass unheeded. 

“ That is capital ! ” she returned, with much cheer- 
fulness. “ Now it only remains to drink your health in 
the best liquor obtainable upon the premises. Take me 
into the supper-room and I’ll do it.” 

It was in the supper-room that Mrs. Mansfield’s at- 
tention was first drawn to what she could not but re- 
gard as the manoeuvres of a young lady who had not 


THE UNDESIRABLE GUEST. 


197 


been invited to Broxham by any wish of hers. She was 
not best pleased with what she saw, and later in the 
evening she frankly said as much to Veronica. 

“ I can’t conceive,” she remarked with some impa- 
tience, “ why you should have wanted to have that girl 
here ; I don’t like her ways of going on at all. She was 
drinking champagne out of tumblers after all the peo- 
ple had gone away, and I should not be surprised to 
hear that she was in the smoking-room with the men 
now.” 

Veronica replied that she had seen Miss Cradock, 
who at the time presented every appearance of being 
perfectly sober, into her bedroom ; and then, as Mrs. 
Mansfield still looked dissatisfied, she inquired smil- 
ingly, “ Are you afraid of her eloping with Horace ? ” 

That — or something like that — was precisely what 
Mrs. Mansfield was afraid of; but of course it would not 
have done to say so. Therefore, she merely shrugged % 
her shoulders and observed : “ Well, I hope you have not 
asked her to stay more than a week, at the outside. 
For poor Lady Louisa’s sake, I have always tried to be 
kind to her; but really there is never any knowing 
what she will do next, and I can’t say that I think her 
a desirable guest.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


MR. MOSTYN GETS HIS FEET WET IN VAIN. 

Dolly Cradock, despite the not unmerited char- 
acter which she enjoyed for being a gay and wild young 
woman, had a head upon her shoulders quite as well 
furnished with brains as the majority of heads, and 
the last thing but one that she would ever have thought 
of doing would have been to elope with anybody, while 
the very last would have been to elope with a man who 
had only five hundred a year, or thereabouts, to live 
upon. Consequently, Horace was in no immediate 
danger of being spirited away from Broxham and hon- 
ourable engagements by her. At the same time, she 
did not relish the sensation of being jilted, nor did she 
appreciate the honesty with which one who had prac- 
tically avowed himself her lover the other day now 
coolly informed her that he was the lover of his des- 
tined bride. It did not even seem to her to be proved 
that the assertion was honest, while she was perfectly 
certain that it had no business to be. Horace Trevor 
in love with a blue-stocking who did not care for sport 
in any form, and who knew nothing of the set to which 
he had always belonged, nor of its ways! — the thing 

(198) 


MR. MOSTYN GETS HIS FEET WET IN VAIN. 199 

was preposterous upon the face of it. If he was not a 
rather impudent sort of liar, he must be a portentous 
fool, and in either case self-respect seemed to render 
an aggressive line of policy excusable. 

Aggressive measures, however, were not assumed by 
Miss Dolly with any ill-humour, open or latent. All 
she did at the outset was to take rather more pains than 
usual to be agreeable to everybody, while exhibiting in 
a strong light the accomplishments which she possessed 
and which Veronica did not. And for this purpose the 
scene and circumstances were highly propitious. If 
Dolly Cradock shone anywhere it was in a country- 
house, and her value in that capacity had always been 
recognised by anxious hostesses, many of whom are 
apt to be hard put to it to find entertainment for the 
friends who honour them with their company. Mrs. 
Mansfield, to be sure, did not recognise Dolly’s value 
at all, but that did not prevent Mrs. Mansfield’s guests 
from finding her great fun, nor could it be denied that 
she was wonderfully successful in enlivening a party 
which might have been a trifle dull without her. Some 
people are not amused by comic songs or daring recita- 
tions (Veronica, for her misfortune, was one of them) ; 
still, the fact remains that most people are, and Miss 
Cradock was an adept in that particular branch of art. 
Moreover, she could ride any horse that you liked to 
put her up on, and she could shoot with almost unfail- 
ing precision. The latter acquirement might be called 
unfeminine if anything were unfeminine in these days ; 
but nothing is, and Dolly, to use her own graceful ex- 


200 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


pression, could “ wipe the eye ” of Horace’s most self- 
satisfied young companions. 

“ I do not know,” Mrs. Mansfield said to her niece 
with quiet exasperation, “ whether Horace proposes to 
buy a double-barrelled gun for you ; but you seem to 
be anxious that he should be attended by one of 
your own sex when he goes out shooting ; and, per- 
haps, all things considered, two would be better than 
one.” 

“ The pheasants would think so, no doubt, if I were 
the second lady,” answered Veronica, laughing; “but 
I am sure Horace wouldn’t, and I am even more than 
sure that I shouldn’t. What would happen to me and 
to those around me if I were entrusted with firearms, I 
shudder to imagine ! Now, Dolly, I believe, is a per- 
fectly safe neighbour in or out of covert.” 

“ Oh, you think so, do you ? ” said Mrs. Mansfield. 
“ I must confess that I should not feel quite so confi- 
dent about that in your place ; but I suppose I had bet- 
ter not interfere.” 

“ I don’t see how you can,” returned Veronica 
serenely. “ You can hardly forbid Dolly to shoot, and 
you will certainly never persuade me to endanger the 
lives of unoffending fellow-creatures in that way.” 

Even if she had been a little jealous of Dolly, she 
would have been far too proud to adopt the precau- 
tions at which her aunt hinted ; but why should she 
be jealous? Jealousy implies the existence of senti- 
ments from which she was happily exempt. Horace 
was perfectly welcome to select the associates whom he 


MR. MOSTYN GETS HIS EEET WET IN YAIN. 201 

preferred, and it would have been a very bad beginning 
to grudge him the liberty which she had every inten- 
tion of claiming for herself. For all that, she could 
not help being conscious of the inferiority which it was 
Dolly’s amiable object to render obvious to her and 
others. Inferiority is, after all, a relative term — as 
most terms must needs be in a world of compromise — 
and who is to say whether a learned personage who can- 
not handle a gun ought to rank above or below an un- 
lettered crack shot? The standard must be fixed by 
common consent? Perhaps so; but the verdict of the 
majority will not convince the minority, and sometimes 
the important matter is to have the minority — be it but 
a minority of one — on your side. Every now and then 
Veronica was forced to admit to herself, with some 
misgivings, that the future lord of Broxham had chosen 
a wife perilously unlike himself in all her habits and 
predilections. 

Miss Cradock made no secret of the fact that such 
was her personal opinion. 

“ What I can’t in any way account for,” she frankly 
told Veronica, “is your having consented to run in 
double harness with Horace Trevor. One understands 
his wanting to marry you. Without flattery — and I am 
not much of a hand at flattering anybody — there is 
nothing so very astonishing in that. But why, when 
you might have remained your own mistress and taken 
your own line, you should have deliberately yoked your- 
self to a man with whom, as far as I can discover, you 
haven’t a solitary taste in common is one of those mys- 


202 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


teries which I should like to hear explained — if you 
didn’t mind explaining it.” 

Veronica said she was afraid it must continue to be 
a mystery, and suggested that the generality of mar- 
riages are apt to be mysterious to bystanders; but in 
her own heart she acknowledged that the candid Dolly 
spoke with the voice of common-sense. Mutual love is 
a sufficient reply to all objections ; but in the absejice of 
mutual love, what have married people to fall back upon 
save community of interests ? Thus it began to dawn 
upon her that she had committed herself to an enter- 
prise which might not prove altogether simple in the 
working out. 

But of those incipient doubts and hesitations she 
was careful to breathe never a word to Horace, whom it 
took some little time to discover that she was not in 
quite such good spirits as she had been. He himself 
was so entirely contented with the existing state of 
things, so relieved to find that Dolly cheerfully acqui- 
esced therein and so grateful to her for her acquiescence 
that it did not occur to him to trace any connection be- 
tween her advent and Veronica’s altered looks. He only 
thought, with a sudden twinge of compunction, that he 
had perhaps been rather less assiduous of late in his 
attentions to his betrothed, and he innocently asked 
whether anything of that kind was the matter. 

“ Because if it is,” he added, “ I’ll chuck the shoot- 
ing at once. They don’t really need me now, and I’d a 
thousand times rather be with you. Only, you know, I 
didn’t want to be a bore, and I thought, if you had any 


MR. MOSTYN GETS HIS FEET WET IN YA1N. 203 

wish for my company, yon would be sure to say so. I 
ain’t much, but I’m better than nobody, and now that I 
come to think of it, it must be precious dull work for 
you, sitting at home all day with the dowagers.” 

Veronica laughed and thanked him, but said that he 
must not imagine himself indispensable. The dowagers, 
she declared, gave her no trouble at all. Besides, she 
really saw scarcely anything of them, being left, for the 
most part, to her own company, of which she had all 
her life been accustomed to enjoy a large measure. 

“ And even if I were tired of myself, I should have 
a treat to look forward to,” she continued ; “ for I am 
glad to say that Mr. Mostyn is coming to us for a few 
days.” 

“ Oh, he's coming, is he ? ” said Horace, without any 
enthusiasm. “ Ho you know, Veronica, I don’t much 
like that chap.” 

“I am quite aware of it,” answered Veronica, still 
smiling. “It is your misfortune, not your fault, that 
you don’t, and although I am sorry for it, I won’t at- 
tempt to convert you. I suppose it is scarcely possible 
that we should like the same people. If it comes to 
that, I don’t know that I very much like Dolly Cradoek.” 

Horace nodded reflectively. “I shouldn’t expect 
you to like her,” he agreed — “shouldn’t very much 
wish it either. All the same, she suits me well enough. 
She is — how shall I put it ? — a companionable sort of 
girl, you see.” 

“ Exactly : she is companionable for those whom she 
suits, and so is Mr. Mostyn. When one doesn’t happen 


204 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


to suit people, their companionship has to be dispensed 
with, that’s all.” 

Horace thought this a little unkind ; but he held his 
peace and went his way, saying to himself that all women 
— even Veronica — were subject to occasional fits of frac- 
tiousness, when the best plan was to leave them 
alone. 

Mr. Mostyn, on his arrival, had no such reason to 
complain of his hostess, who showed herself duly sensi- 
ble of the honour conferred upon her. It was not in 
everybody’s house that the great man cared to put him- 
self to the inconvenience of staying, and even Mrs. Mans- 
field (although she would never have known that he was 
great unless everybody had told her so) understood that 
special orders must be given to make him comfortable. 
Accordingly, a little sitting-room was prepared for his 
private use, in case a fit of inspiration should suddenly 
attack him, copies of his latest works were placed in 
conspicuous positions upon the drawing-room table, and 
his fellow guests were implored just to glance through 
them, if they had not done so already. 

But Cyril Mostyn was not really a conceited man — 
or, at least, if he knew his own value, he did not in the 
least expect it to be recognised by the average inmates 
of an English country house, and he was very well able 
to adapt himself to his company. Although he had 
never cared for field sports himself, he could talk easily 
and by no means ignorantly to those who did ; so that 
he won some grudging approval even from Dolly Cra- 
dock, to whom it pleased him to address a liberal share 


MR. MOSTYN GETS HIS FEET WET IN VAIN. 205 

of his conversation, notwithstanding her disrespectful 
bluntness. 

“ Y r ou are not quite such a muff as I took you for,” 
she was kind enough to tell him. “ You seem to have 
heard things, if you haven’t seen them ; and I daresay 
you would he different if you could.” 

“ You may take that as an indisputable fact,” an- 
swered Mr. Mostyn suavely. 

“ Personally,” continued Dolly, “ I don’t see the 
good of being a man at all when one neither hunts 
nor shoots nor plays games; but, after all, I suppose 
there must be a good many like you.” 

“ Not among the educated classes, I believe. Still, 
there are a few, and we serve a number of useful, un- 
obtrusive purposes. May I ask whether your just dis- 
dain extends to women who neither hunt nor shoot nor 
play games ? ” 

Dolly shrugged her shoulders. “ I don’t think it is 
a particularly good plan to mate .them with men who 
are really men, if that is what you mean,” she an- 
swered. “ But needs must when the devil drives ! 
Situated as he is, poor Horace Trevor had hardly any 
alternative, you see.” 

“ But Miss Dimsdale — had she no alternative ? ” 

“ Ah ! that’s another pair of shoes. If I had been 
in Veronica’s, I should have done what she has done 
willingly enough ; but as she is wearing them her- 
self, I expect they will begin to pinch her before 
long. She may even have to kick them off — who 
knows? ” 


14 


206 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ Well, yes ; she may. When is the wedding to take 
place?” 

“In January, I believe, bar accidents. Oh, the 
wedding will take place right enough. I was only 
wondering how long they would manage to live to- 
gether afterwards.” 

Mostyn smiled and changed the subject. He had 
a fastidious ear, and he was no more anxious to hear 
the things which he knew Holly was going to say than 
he would have been to listen to the hideous discords of 
an itinerant musician. As, moreover, he had already 
obtained from her all the information that he was 
likely to obtain, he had no further reason for monopo- 
lising so fascinating a lady, and he soon resigned her 
to younger and more congenial company. 

But he had a word or two to say to Veronica — a 
word or two which he felt that he must say, as her 
friend and as an adviser who possessed a certain amount 
of influence over her. On the following afternoon, 
therefore, he asked her to take him for a walk round 
h§r dominions, and she was all the more ready to com- 
ply with this request because she knew very well that 
she would have to explain herself to him sooner or 
later. For some time past there had been frosts and 
dry weather, under the malign influence of which the 
ground had been growing harder and harder, but now 
the wind had found its way round to the west, the sky 
was obscured by low, level clouds with a promise of 
rain in them which had not begun to fall yet, and Miss 
Cradock had at last gone off to see what the hunting 


MR. MOSTYN GETS HIS FEET WET IN VAIN. 207 

of the neighbourhood was like, mounted on the little 
bay horse and escorted by the bay horse’s owner. Ve- 
ronica said — 

“ Isn’t it a comfort to think that everybody is pro- 
vided with amusement now — that we can do just what 
we like until dinner-time ! ” 

“ It would be,” answered Mostyn, who was walking 
beside her across the softened turf of the park, “ if 
there were any imaginable need for falling back upon 
negative comforts; but why deliberately create such a 
situation for yourself ? ” 

“ I haven’t created it for myself, it has been cre- 
ated for me,” answered Veronica quickly. And then: 
“ Oh, I know you think I am doing a foolish thing, 
but just consider for a moment ! Feeling as I do about 
it all, shouldn’t I have been infinitely more foolish to 
resist my obvious destiny ? ” 

She went on to relate exactly how it had come about 
that her destiny had been rendered obvious to her, dis- 
guising nothing, telling what she believed to be the 
simple truth, and affirming that she was in no way dis- 
satisfied therewith. The comfort to which she looked 
forward was, she declared, far from being negative: it 
was positive and it was assured. 

“You think so?” returned her counsellor, with a 
melancholy, sceptical smile; “you really think that 
you will be comfortable, spending your whole life with 
a man whom you not only do not love — I grant you 
that that in itself does not exclude all possibility of 
comfort — but to whom you will always have to suit 


208 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


your conversation, if you want him to understand what 
you mean? He is in love with you? * That may be; 
but the emotion of which you are thinking is invariably 
and inevitably transient, and at the end of — shall we 
say two years ? — you will be wishing with all your heart 
that you had left him to his natural affinity in the per- 
son of Miss Dolly Cradock.” 

“ I don’t think I shall ; but, anyhow, the thing 
couldn’t have been done. For, whatever his feelings 
may be two years hence, he does not wish to marry 
Dolly now; and unless he had wished to marry her, 
and had allowed himself to be over-persuaded by her 
(which was what I rather counted upon) he would 
never have accepted the property from me.” 

“ I may be very dense,” remarked Mr. Mostyn ; 
“ but I cannot see why it is essential that this property 
should pass into his hands. Setting one calamity 
against another, it strikes me that Mr. Horace Tre- 
vor’s comparative poverty would be a somewhat less 
terrible thing than the sacrifice of your entire exist- 
ence. And that, you may be sure, is what your mar- 
riage will mean. The young man is a decent enough 
young man ; but you cannot possibly imbue him with 
your tastes, so that your one and only chance of hap- 
piness will be to assimilate his.” 

“ If that is so, I must try,” said Veronica unflinchingly. 

<c It certainly is so, and my belief in your self-sac- 
rificing capacity is so strong that I daresay you will end 
by accomplishing the feat. Only I cannot at all un- 
derstand the necessity for it.” 


MR. MOSTYN GETS HIS FEET WET IN VAIN. 209 

Since he did not understand, in spite of its having 
been quite clearly explained to him, there was no more 
to be said. A good deal more was, however, said in the 
course of a long, devious walk, and Veronica would 
have felt more grateful to her mentor than she did if 
she had only known how very much Mr. Cyril Mostyn 
disliked getting his feet wet. As it was, she felt rather 
disappointed in him and vexed with him — especially as 
she could not but admit that he was, to a certain ex- 
tent, right. Theoretically, of course, there must be 
give and take between married people ; but practically, 
the wife must give and the husband take, and in cases 
where the contrary system is adopted the wife is apt to 
entertain uncommonly little respect for her husband. 
The moral of which was that the future Mrs. Horace 
Trevor had better learn to ride forthwith. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


DOLLY IN HER GLORY. 

Horace Trevor’s little bay horse (for that the 
little hay horse belonged to Horace and not to Veron- 
ica, who had paid legacy duty in respect of his value, 
was now no longer disputed) was one of those animals 
which, without being in the least vicious, required a 
good deal of riding. He had, as some horses and most 
ponies have, an exaggerated sense of humour, and was 
past-master of all those well-known equine practical 
jokes by means of which the unwary rider can be sud- 
denly exhibited to his friends in the most unexpected 
and mirth-provoking attitudes. His favourite trick 
(when prolonged bucking had failed) was to sw r erve 
and rear simultaneously, a manoeuvre which often re- 
sulted in a satisfying success ; but he had many other 
strings to his bow, and as soon as he had accomplished 
his object he would stand still, instead of attempting to 
get away, cock his ears, and gaze at his prostrate ad- 
versary with an air of puzzled concern, as if wondering 
what in the world the man could be about, while he 
was inwardly shaken by a silent horse-laugh. Horace, 

who knew his little ways — had, indeed, only too good 
( 210 ) 


DOLLY IN HER GLORY. 


211 


reason to know them — would never have thought of 
describing him as a suitable mount for a lady ; but, on 
the other hand, to have described him as unsuitable 
would have been to render Dolly’s intention of riding 
him unalterable, so he merely warned her of what she 
had to expect and awaited results. 

These were of a nature to fill him with genuine ad- 
miration. On the way to the meet the little bay horse 
played every card that he possessed, and played each one 
of them in vain. Whether it is easier or more difficult to 
stick to a side-saddle than to a cross-saddle is a question 
as to which opinions differ, but certain it is that not 
many men could have maintained their position upon 
that mischievous beast’s back as firmly as Miss Cradock 
maintained hers, while fewer still would have kept their 
temper as she did under extreme provocation. She did 
not lose it even when she saw that hostilities were in- 
evitable; she only remarked, “Well, I think this has 
gone on long enough now,” and settled down to a strug- 
gle, out of which she came completely victorious. For 
some minutes she had to sit tight and use her hunt- 
ing-crop and spur with considerable vigour ; but, in the 
end, her opponent, finding that he could not get rid 
of her, and being at heart a good-humoured creature, 
shook his head, acknowledged himself beaten, and bore 
no malice. After that, there was no further trouble 
with him. 

“ I must say for you that you can ride ! ” was 
Horace’s flattering comment upon the issue of the 
battle. 


212 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“Didn’t you know that before?” returned Dolly 
composedly. 

But in truth she was not ill-pleased that he ad- 
mired her, nor unconscious of being admirable. If 
she wanted him to draw comparisons — and, naturally 
enough, she did — -the occasion could not have been bet- 
ter suited to her purpose. Was it to be expected of her 
that she should neglect to make the most of it? More- 
over, Fortune favoured her so far that a fox was found 
in the first covert drawn, and gave them a capital run 
of an hour and twenty minutes before being killed in 
the open. Horace, whom she followed, was with them 
from start to finish, and although she subsequently 
thought fit to pooh-pooh the country, as presenting no 
difficulties worth speaking of, it had not been every- 
body who had cared to ride as straight as she and her 
pilot had done. It is true that her mount was both 
quick and clever, and that he seldom (unless he was 
interfered with) indulged in eccentricities while hounds 
were running ; still, he bore an unenviable reputation, 
and his rider was made the recipient of many well-de- 
served compliments. 

The Master, a rather crabbed old fellow, who, as a 
rule, hated women in the hunting-field, addressed her 
with what for him was quite unwonted civility, after 
instructing the huntsman to give her the brush. 

“ Very glad to have met you at last, Miss Dims- 
dale,” said he. “ Hope we shall often see you out with 
us now. You’re evidently accustomed to something 
better in the way of sport than we can show you in 


DOLLY IN HER GLORY. 213 

this shooting county; still, we do our best — we do our 
best.” 

And then he looked, as if some acknowledgment of 
the very fair sport they had already enjoyed would be 
welcome and appropriate. But Miss Cradock was noth- 
ing if not sincere. 

“ Oh, I knew it couldn’t be up to much,” she an- 
swered coolly. “ But I have seen 'worse, and I am 
rather agreeably disappointed so far. I am not Miss 
Dimsdale, by-the-way — no such luck ! ” 

“ Oh ! — beg your pardon, I’m sure ! ” returned the 
old gentleman, rather taken aback ; and perhaps for a 
moment he was not sorry that this very self-possessed 
young woman was not the permanent neighbour for 
whom he had taken her. But he speedily recovered 
his good-liumour, and after Horace had introduced him 
to Dolly by her proper name, he remarked with a gruff 
laugh : “ I wouldn’t for the world breathe a disparaging 
word about the bride-elect, Trevor ; but, upon my life ! 
now that I have seen Miss Cradock go as she has gone 
to-day, I feel more than half inclined to echo her words 
when she told me that she wasn’t the lady in question, 
and say, ‘ No such luck ! ’ ” 

If this was not precisely a happy speech, he thought 
it was, and he rode off, chuckling contentedly, while 
Dolly shot a demure, amused glance at Horace, who 
looked the other way. Personally, he did not in the 
least wish Veronica to hunt, being well aware that she 
had qualities which more than atoned for certain defi- 
ciencies; yet no doubt many people would think it a 


21 ± 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


pity that she did not, and he experienced a sort of an- 
noyed, vicarious shame on her behalf when he had to 
explain to various farmers and others who had fallen 
into the same mistake as the M. F. H. had done, that 
his future wife was not a sportswoman. 

Well, if she had been the keenest sportswoman that 
ever sat in a saddle, she would have had few opportuni- 
ties of gratifying her tastes in a neighbourhood where 
vulpecide was openly and shamelessly practised. This, 
at least — or something equivalent to it — was what Hor- 
ace, being in a quarrelsome mood, saw fit to affirm be- 
fore the afternoon was over. For two" coverts had been 
drawn blank, although the hounds had been taken 
thither by invitation, and the light was beginning to 
fail, and whether it was worth while to persevere under 
such dispiriting conditions seemed to be quite an open 
question. Dolly, when it was put to her, answered at 
once in the negative. 

“ How many miles home ? ” she asked. “ Eight or 
nine, I suppose ? Then let’s be off. We shall do no more 
good to-day, and you look so sulky that the only treat- 
ment for you is take you home and put you in the corner.” 

Horace signified his entire willingness to be taken 
home, and apologised for looking sulky; but she 
laughed and declared that he must be forgiven. “ One 
has one’s little reasons for sulking every now and then, 
and I can guess what some of yours are.” 

“Well,” said Horace, “I do think it is rather too 
bad for a man to write and say that he wants his coverts 
drawn on a particular day, and then ” 


DOLLY IN HER GLORY. 


215 


“ Oh, it’s a great deal too bad, and I am sure you 
will never do such a wicked thing when you have cov- 
erts of your own ; only that doesn’t happen to be the 
cause of your black looks, my friend. Come, be reason- 
able ! You can’t have coverts or anything else in this 
world without paying a certain price, and as you didn’t 
think the price too high when you concluded your bar- 
gain it doesn’t become you to murmur now. The 
neighbouring hawbucks won’t appreciate Mrs. Trevor; 
but, after all, what does that matter when you yourself 
appreciate her so profoundly ? ” 

Horace was not so much struck by the impertinence 
of this speech as astonished at Dolly’s penetration in 
having read his thoughts. “ How did you know that I 
had anything of that sort in my mind ? ” he asked won- 
deringly. 

“ I am so awfully clever that I divined it. Well, I ' 
suppose I ought to be sorry for you ; but I can’t say 
that I am. Why should you expect to be allowed to 
run with the hare and hunt with the hounds ? ” 

“ I don’t expect any such thing, and I certainly 
don’t want anyone to be sorry for me,” returned Hor- 
ace, with unwonted acrimony. “ My own humble opin- 
ion is that most fellows would envy me. What more 
could a man ask for than to be accepted by the girl 
whom he loves and who, as he very well knows, is a 
thousand times too good for him ? I can assure you 
that I wouldn’t change places with any man in Eng- 
land ! ” 

He thought it as well to put things strongly, be- 


216 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


cause Dolly really deserved no mercy after having been 
so impertinent as to pity him ; but she merely remarked, 
without any apparent annoyance, “ Ah ! so you are 
pleased to assert.” 

“ Well, it is the truth.” 

“Is it ? But then you don’t invariably stick to the 
truth, do you ? I seem to remember your having told 
me something which one hopes wasn’t the truth just 
before you left London in such a hurry.” 

This was horribly unpleasant ; and the worst of it 
was that she was absolutely within her right in saying 
unpleasant things. Her taste might be open to ques- 
tion ; but that did not alter the fact that she was en- 
titled to reproach him, nor could he deny that he had 
behaved badly to her. For a moment, as he splashed 
along by her side through miry byways and between 
black hedgerows, he thought of reminding her how she 
herself had decreed that the episode to which she 
alluded was to be forgotten with all possible despatch ; 
but that seemed an ignoble plea to take shelter behind, 
and he preferred to say boldly — 

“ I’ll tell you the truth now, anyhow. I was down 
on my luck that evening ; I was pretty angry with my- 
self, and — and other people ; I felt sure that Veronica 

would never look at me ; and so ” 

“ And so you thought you would make love to me, 
as apis-aller ? How flattering that would be, if it were 
really the truth ! But what preserves me from tum- 
bling off my horse with shame and mortification is that 
I don’t believe a word of it.” 


DOLLY IN HER GLORY. 


217 


Horace drew in his breath and gazed piteously round 
the darkening horizon, as if in search of some adequate 
rejoinder ; but neither earth nor sky nor any of the 
living creatures that came within his ken could help 
him out of his dilemma — which was, indeed, an unusual 
one. To convince a lady that you have always adored 
her, although you may not always have appeared to do 
so, is a task which may be approached with some 
reasonable degree of confidence; but to persuade her 
(when she is not inclined to take your word for it) that, 
notwithstanding your having once declared your love 
for her, you never entertained any sentiment of the 
kind is not so much a difficult undertaking as a species 
of brutality which cannot even be attempted. Horace, 
therefore, hung his head and held his peace, while Dolly 
resumed composedly — 

“No; I don’t believe it; and, as I don’t, why 
shouldn’t I allow myself the satisfaction of saying so ? 
You need not feel in the least alarmed, though. Je 
suis tonne diatlesse\ I don’t care to make mischief; 
and no indiscreet revelations of mine shall prevent you 
from leading your chaste Veronica to the altar. Only I 
should have had a rather higher opinion of you if you 
had not tried to humbug me.” 

Horace still felt himself hopelessly unequal to the 
occasion ; all he could do was to mutter feebly : “ I 
ain’t a humbug — never was called a humbug before in 
my life ! ” 

“ You are called by that name now, and if you don’t 
like it — you can do the other thing,” returned his com- 


218 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


panion pitilessly. “ In justice to you I’ll allow you 
credit for having tried to humbug yourself ; but it won’t 
do, dear boy, and I strongly suspect that you know it 
won’t do. Take example by me, and look things 
straight in the face. If I had been the owner of Brox- 
ham it is as certain as anything can be that you would 
have asked me to marry you ; and if you had been the 
owner of Broxham it is not at all unlikely that I should 
have consented to marry you. But Broxham belongs to 
somebody else, and the consequence is that other ar- 
rangements have to be made the best of. By all means 
make the best of them ; I only beg of you not to pre- 
tend that your match is a love-match. Moreover, as a 
mere friendly suggestion, I should advise you not to 
turn sulky because your future wife is not all that you 
would like her to be.” 

Horace was so far provoked into forgetting his good 
manners as to ejaculate emphatically, “ She is every- 
thing that I should like her to be — absolutely every- 
thing ! And that I am prepared to swear.” 

“My dear friend, why perjure yourself? If you 
swore until you were black in the face, you would not 
alter hard facts. Personally, I like Veronica very well, a 
great deal better than I like most of the girls of my ac- 
quaintance — who are a baddish lot, between you and 
me — but when you ask me to believe that you will ever 
be quite comfortable or at your ease with a woman who 
doesn’t know how to ride, you ask for a little more 
credulity than I have in stock just at present. If it 
comes to that, there is her side of the question too, you 


DOLLY IN HER GLORY. 


219 


know. Most likely she will never be quite comfortable 
with a man who reads nothing except the sporting 
papers and the Racing Calendar.” 

Now, it so chanced that this highly plausible fore- 
cast of probabilities fell upon an ear which it had not 
been intended to reach quite so directly. After having 
accompanied Mr. Mostyn back to the house and left 
him to go upstairs and change his socks, Veronica had 
wandered forth again, partly because she was restless 
and partly because she wished to be alone, and so it had 
come to pass that, strolling further and further in the 
twilight, she had arrived at the high wooden palings by 
which her park was encircled. Here she paused and, 
leaning against the trunk of a rugged elm, set to work 
to cross-examine herself. This, if undertaken in a con- 
scientious spirit, is always a long business, and she was 
still far from having reached the end of it when the 
sound of horses’ hoofs in the distance caused her to 
desist. Nearer and nearer it came, and when she was 
able to make sure that two horses were approaching 
her at a walking pace, she drew correct inferences. 
Her intention was to hail the returning equestrians, 
who must needs pass within a few yards of her, and in- 
quire what sport they had had ; but for the reason 
above mentioned, her intention was not carried into 
effect. It was no fault of hers that Dolly Cradock’s 
voice was clear and penetrating, nor could she help 
overhearing something which it was not altogether 
agreeable to her to overhear. Having thus uninten- 
tionally played the eavesdropper, she did not feel that 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


220 

the moment would be well chosen for breaking in upon 
an interesting discussion, so she let them ride on, and 
slipped noiselessly away across the grass, in order that 
she might not catch Horace’s reply. 

For the rest, she could easily imagine what his reply 
would be, and, since she did not doubt his loyalty, there 
was no need to speculate upon the subject. What 
seemed to her to be a far more important question to 
consider was whether Mr. Mostyn and Dolly Cradock 
were not, from their respective points of view, entirely 
in the right. Oil and water will not mix ; a sporting 
man and a woman imbued with literary tastes, as well 
as heterodox ideas respecting ferae naturae, can hardly 
be said to have been made for one another, and perhaps^ 
as a general thing, they ought to be warned against 
attempting to set up house together. But in this par- 
ticular instance there were complications. The sport- 
ing man really did love the literary woman ; it was so 
expedient as to be almost essential that he should marry 
her, and she herself felt it to be her clear duty to marry 
him, if she could by any means reconcile it with her 
sense of what was right to do so. Moreover — but this 
may have been irrelevant and illogical — she was con- 
scious of a strong disinclination to abandon her scheme 
at Dolly’s bidding. “ It is for me that he cares, not for 
her,” she said to herself, “ and he knows quite well what 
I am and what I am not. He has made his choice with 
his eyes open.” 

In this way the resolution which Veronica had 
formed earlier in the afternoon took firmer and more 


DOLLY IN HER GLORY. 


221 


definite shape — a shape so definite, indeed, that she 
greatly astonished her betrothed by taking him aside, 
after dinner, to say abruptly : “ Horace, I want you to 
teach me to ride.” 

“ With all the pleasure in life,” he answered ; “ the 
only thing is that you will have to get a horse before 
you can begin.” 

“Couldn’t I have the one that Dolly was riding to- 
day?” 

“The bay? — oh, Lord, no! he would kill you to a 
certainty. There are precious few women, I can tell 
you, whom I should like to see upon that little brute’s 
back.” 

“ I suppose there are not many women who ride as 
well as she does; still, I am not afraid of horses, and 
there is no reason why I should not learn. Anything 
can be learnt.” 

“ Yes — in time,” answered Horace ; “ but one does 
not pick up the horse that one wants every day. How- 
ever, I’ll look out for you.” 

“ That means that I may have to wait weeks or 
months, whereas I want to make a start at once. 
Couldn’t I begin upon your big horse, if you won’t let 
me have the other ? ” 

Horace looked dubious. “ The dun is quiet enough,” 
he answered ; “ a child might ride him in a snaffle — 
that is, if the child didn’t mind being run away with 
for a bit — and all you would have to do would be to sit 
upon his back. But, as far as I know, he has never 
carried a lady, and you can see for yourself that that 
15 


222 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


isn’t his mission in life. What has made you take this 
sudden fancy into your head, Veronica? Would you 
mind waiting until — until we are married and settled 
down ? Then we could go to work systematically, you 
know, if you still wished it.” 

“ I will ride the dun horse to-morrow,” said Veron- 
ica decisively. “ I am sure I shall come to no harm if 
you go with me and tell me what to do, and I should 
very much mind waiting. As for sudden fancies, you 
ought to know that they are the prerogative of my sex, 
and that no sensible man ever dreams of asking us to 
account for them.” 

Perhaps Horace had sufficient sense to be able to 
account for this one ; at all events, he thought it best 
to offer no further opposition and ask no more ques- 
tions. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


PRIDE HAS A FALL. 

It was, of course, quite out of the question for Ve- 
ronica to ride the dun horse on the following day, and 
Horace would have been obliged to explain to her why 
it was out of the question, had not all need for discus- 
sion been obviated by the lucky circumstance that she 
did not possess a riding-habit. This gave time to 
profit by the assistance of a competent and good- 
natured lady who was always ready to mount any ani- 
mal that might be offered to her, and the result of a 
few preliminary canters was so far satisfactory that 
Dolly pronounced the dun’s back as safe a means of 
locomotion as an old woman’s bath-chair, though, per- 
haps, scarcely as comfortable a one. 

“ He won’t do anything,” she assured Veronica. 
“ As far as I can discover, he hasn’t a trick of any sort 
or kind in him, and he takes quite kindly to a side- 
saddle. Only he is rather a free goer, and you will find 
him pull you a little. However, I daresay that by the 
time your habit comes, I shall have got him to under- 
stand one or two things which have hardly dawned 
upon him yet.” 


( 223 ) 


224 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


Veronica had to submit to some patronising coun- 
sels from that quarter, and to say “ Thank you ” for 
them. She was sensible enough to perceive that it 
could not be otherwise, although she would fain have 
dispensed with Dolly’s help — perhaps even with Dolly’s 
presence at Broxham altogether. But her guest said 
nothing about leaving, nor could the hint which Mrs. 
Mansfield was avowedly anxious to convey be considered 
for one moment permissible. Mrs. Mansfield was a 
good deal vexed about her niece’s whim, and told her as 
much without circumlocution. 

“ It does seem so very gratuitous ? ” she exclaimed. 
“ If one can’t ride one can’t ride, and there’s an end of 
it. What is the use of parading one’s incapacity, in ad- 
dition to risking one’s neck ? Nothing is more stupid 
than showing yourself to a man in a thoroughly unbe- 
coming light, except showing him that you are jealous ; 
and your idea of the way to increase Horace’s admira- 
tion for you is to kill both those birds with one stone.” 

Veronica knew that it would be mere waste of breath 
to disclaim the motive ascribed to her : at the bottom 
of her heart, indeed, there lurked an uncomfortable 
suspicion that she could not have done so with absolute 
truth. However, she was now fully committed to a 
course which had been somewhat over-hastily decided 
upon, and she was not to be turned aside from it by a 
tardy realisation of the fact that everybody was pretty 
sure to misunderstand her and laugh at her. 

Mr. Mostyn, at all events, was a more or less conso- 
latory exception. He understood, or professed to under- 


PRIDE HAS A FALL. 


225 


stand, well enough what she was driving at, and he did 
not laugh at her, although his valedictory remarks were 
neither encouraging nor meant to be so. 

“ Do you know why the sublime is said to be next 
door neighbour to the ridiculous ? ” the poet asked her 
on the morning of his departure. “ It is only because 
the consequences of sublime actions are so often and so 
patently inadequate. I told you, the other day, that 
you might very likely succeed in the attempt which you 
are bent upon ; but what a price you are going to pay ! 
— and what a poor little success it will be at best ! At 
the risk of making you angry, I must confess to a hope 
that, after all, you will not succeed, and that these 
heroic efforts to stifle yourself may give you a choking 
sensation which you will find unendurable. I shall con- 
tinue to cherish that hope until I hear that you are 
actually married. It will be time enough then to sing 
a requiem over my defunct poetess.” 

Now there is really nothing in the least incompatible 
between poetry and horse exercise; but the truth was 
that it did require a rather bold flight of imagination to 
picture Horace Trevor as the admiring husband of a 
poetess, and although Veronica had never dreamt of 
laying claim to the latter designation, there were occa- 
sional moments when she felt that the atmosphere of 
Broxham — supposing it to remain unchanged— might 
become somewhat difficult to breathe. But would it re- 
main unchanged ? That was the question to which she 
was less prepared to return a decisive answer than she 
would have been a short time before. For it was begin- 


226 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


ning to dawn upon her that docile though Horace was, 
he would perforce continue to like people and pursuits 
separated from her by an impassable gulf. Meanwhile, 
she proposed to make a bold leap at the gulf, and every 
day her hopes of clearing it grew fainter. Had Aunt 
Julia, after all, been so very far wrong in cautioning 
her against unnecessary humiliation? The cobbler is 
in no way ridiculous so long as he sticks to his last, but 
as soon as he takes it into his head to play at being an 
athlete, hilarity on the part of bystanders becomes ex- 
cusable, and it struck Veronica that in her case hilarity 
was taking time by the forelock. In that respect, how- 
ever, she wronged her friends, who were only a little 
curious to see what would happen to her, and were not 
ill-naturedly amused at her courage and obstinacy. It 
was no fault of theirs that, knowing a good deal more 
about horses than she did, they foresaw what was proba- 
bly in store for her. 

“ If I were you,” said Dolly to Horace, in the course 
of one of those prolonged confidential colloquies which 
Veronica watched with mixed feelings, “ I should take a 
leading-rein. She won’t know that it isn’t the usual 
thing unless you tell her, and I don’t for one moment 
believe that she will be able to hold that horse.” 

“ All very fine,” grumbled Horace ; “ but you know 
what the bay is. He would begin to play the ass at 
once when he saw what was up, and that would start 
the other. I wish to goodness Veronica would consent 
to wait until I get a proper mount for her ! ” 

Horace and Dolly were once more upon terms of 


PRIDE HAS A FALL. 


227 


comfortable amity. He had made no further effort to 
persuade her that he was really in love with his future 
bride and had never been in love with anybody else, nor 
had she distressed him by referring again to an episode 
which he was anxious to bury in oblivion. As she her- 
self had said, she was tonne diablesse , while he, on his 
side, was ever ready to ignore the disquieting elements 
in a given situation. * 

The rapidity with which orders can be executed 
when money is no object is quite extraordinary, and 
Veronica’s habit arrived before the education of the 
dun horse had been well taken in hand. She was so set 
upon carrying out her purpose forthwith that Horace’s 
pleas for a little longer delay were not even listened to ; 
only an hour or two before embarking upon an adven- 
ture of which it was impossible to predict the conse- 
quences, she suddenly bethought herself of the advisa- 
bility of making her will. This, with the aid of the 
instructions contained in “ Whitaker’s Almanack,” she 
accomplished to her own satisfaction, leaving the whole 
of her landed property and the half of her personalty 
to Horace, while the remaining moiety, subject to sundry 
trifling legacies, was to be divided between the Rev. 
John Dimsdale and his son Joseph. Then she got the 
butler and the footman to witness her signature, arrayed 
herself in a garb to which she was not accustomed and 
which felt rather queer, and descended the staircase, 
calmly prepared to encounter Fate. 

It was not altogether pleasant to find that all the 
people who were staying in the house had congregated 


228 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


together under the porch to see her start ; but she be- 
trayed no annoyance, and only offered up a brief inward 
prayer that she might be placed in the saddle without 
an unseemly scramble. Horace, as it happened, was at 
the same moment silently breathing the selfsame aspira- 
tion, and perhaps the fervour of his desire lent addi- 
tional strength to his muscles; for he successfully 
achieved a feat towards the performance of which he 
received no help from his unskilled burden. The horse 
stood like a rock, manifesting no impatience while Ve- 
ronica was being shown how to hold her reins ; and pres- 
ently the pair got away, walking quietly down the drive, 
to the satisfaction, it may be hoped, of onlookers, who 
had possibly expected to witness something a little more 
exciting. 

“ That’s all right,” said Horace, with a sigh of relief. 
“ Now we won’t go off the road until we are well out of 
sight.” 

“ Are we going off the road ? ” asked Veronica, think- 
ing to herself what a very large and powerful animal a 
horse was and how exceedingly difficult it must be to 
manage him. 

“ Not unless you like ; only, perhaps, it would be as 
well just to take the bounce out of them. You see, these 
horses aren’t much accustomed to hacking, and they’ll 
go quieter after they have had a bit of a gallop. I thought 
we might take them across the common ; you can’t very 
well come to grief there. You don’t feel nervous, do 
you?” 

“ I don’t think so,” answered Veronica truthfully. “ I 


PRIDE HAS A FALL. 


229 

feel rather funny, but I am not frightened that I know 
of. Shall I be run away with? ” 

“ Yes, very likely ; but don’t lose your head and don’t 
pull him. He’s a knowing old bird, and he’ll take very 
good care not to hurt himself.” 

Veronica trusted that he would take equally good care 
not to hurt her ; but this, she presumed, must depend 
upon whether she could maintain her position on his 
back, which at present seemed a somewhat dubious pro- 
viso. Meanwhile, he walked soberly along, taking no 
notice of the capering bay, while Horace, scrutinising 
her anxiously, explained that she was holding her hands 
all wrong and sitting in the wrong place. After a time 
she wearied of these minute instructions, of being told 
what she ought to do in every conceivable emergency, 
and of the many bad accidents which had occurred in 
the presence of her instructor as a consequence of care- 
less riding. 

“ If you go on much longer in this way,” she said, 
laughing, “you will make me believe that nobody 
except a thoroughly experienced rider should ever 
mount a horse. Yet I suppose there must have been 
a beginning even to your knowledge and Dolly Cra- 
dock’s.” 

“ Oh, well, I began on a pony when I was a young- 
ster,” answered Horace, “ and so, I should think, did she. 
Besides, she is as hard as nails ; it doesn’t hurt her to 
tumble about.” He added, after a pause : “ The great 
thing is to have confidence.” 

“ And I can’t be accused of lacking that,” observed 


230 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


Veronica, “or I shouldn’t be here. Are you wishing | 
that I were anywhere else ? ” 

As a matter of fact he was, but he feared to offend j 
her by confessing it. He answered very diplomatically : 

“ You know well enough, Veronica, that I always wish i 
to have you with me.” 

“ Even when you are pursuing the fox ? I hope you 
understand that that is what I am trying to qualify my- 
self for.” 

Horace did not look precisely enchanted. “ If you 
can learn to ride you can soon learn to hunt,” he an- 
swered hesitatingly. “ But why should you ? You don’t 
like it, and what is the use of doing things that one 
doesn’t like? ” 

Alas ! there is very little use in attempting to do them ; 
and if everybody realised that simple elementary fact this 
world would not be nearly as fqll of failures and disap- 
pointments as it is. But Veronica was not in the mood 
for philosophic reflection. She said rather doggedly : “ I 
have quite made up my mind that your wife must be a 
hunting woman.” 

“ Yes, I thought that was what you were driving at,” 
observed Horace, in a vexed tone, “ and it’s the greatest 
mistake that ever was ! I don’t say that I shouldn’t be 
glad if you were fond of sport ; but when I know that 
you aren’t, and never will be ” 

A discussion which was opening somewhat ominously 
was here cut short by the abrupt and involuntary with- 
drawal of one of the parties to it. Horace had unthink- 
ingly turned off the road on to the edge of the long and 


PRIDE HAS A FALL. 


231 


wide common whither they were bound, and the moment 
that the dun horse felt turf under his feet away he went, 
with a keen enjoyment of the rushing, moist wind, with 
a strong desire to stretch his legs and without the slight- 
est consideration for the wishes of his temporary mistress, 
whom he had long ere this discovered to be a factor of 
no importance in the afternoon’s amusement. The little 
bay flung up his heels and squealed, but was not per- 
mitted to follow in the wake of his stable companion. 
Horace, knowing that he could do no good and that the 
horse was not likely to do any harm, was satisfied to keep 
the fugitives well in §ight and was properly ashamed of 
himself for being shaken with irrepressible laughter at 
the way in which the one was playing cup-and-ball with 
the other. As he had anticipated, the old horse ran in a 
wide circle, slackening his pace as soon as he had had 
enough of it ; Veronica lost her breath but not her seat, 
and by the time that Horace was able to rejoin her, no 
trace of a smile was discernible upon his concerned 
countenance. 

“ Why didn’t you stop him ? ” she gasped rather re- 
proachfully. 

“ Well, it wouldn’t have been quite the easiest thing 
in tfie world to do. Besides, it wasn’t necessary ; you 
rode with great judgment.” 

“ Please don’t insult me,” said Veronica. 

“But you did really! If you had tugged at his 
mouth, he might have given you some trouble ; but you 
had the good sense to leave him alone, and he’ll be all 
right now, unless— that is, I ’m sure he will be all right 


232 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


now. I am afraid that he must have shaken you a great 
deal, though.” 

“ He has shaken me until I feel like a whipped-up 
egg,” answered Veronica, laughing rather disconsolately ; 
“ still, here I am, which is a very wonderful thing to me. 
Do they always throw people about like that when they 
gallop ? ” 

Horace was going to say, “ That depends upon the 
people,” but thought it better to substitute, “ That de- 
pends upon the horse. I knew you would find his paces 
rather rough at first ; but one soon gets accustomed to 
that.” 

Veronica could not imagine it possible that she 
would ever become accustomed to so violent a mode of 
progression; yet, as a matter of fact, she did feel a 
good deal more at home after the second, and much 
quieter, gallop upon which Horace insisted; for the 
dun horse was really a good-natured beast, besides 
being at heart a somewhat lazy one. Therefore, since 
he was in company, and since he had asserted his 
supremacy, he was graciously pleased to accommodats 
his pace to that of the bay. Then came a brief trot 
along a stretch of sandy road, which was so dreadfully 
uncomfortable that Horace’s pupil begged to be allowed 
to postpone that branch of her instruction to the next 
lesson, and they dropped back into an easy walk. 
However, she was not ill pleased with her performance, 
so far— considerably better pleased, if the truth must 
be told, than he was. Never in his life had he met 
with anyone so absolutely ignorant of the art of equi- 


PRIDE HAS A FALL. 


233 


tation, and she quite took his breath away when, after 
they had turned their horses’ heads homewards, she 
coolly remarked — 

“ Oh, by-the-way, there is one thing more that I 
want to do — I want to jump a fence of some sort.” 

At first he would not hear of her attempting what 
there was so very little reason to suppose that she could 
accomplish ; but when she grew peremptory he yielded, 
fearing to affront her, and saying to himself that, after 
all, it is a simple enough thing to sit upon a horse’s 
hack. So he selected a low bank, with a narrow ditch 
on the hither side of it, and, having told her exactly 
what to do, put the bay at what, in his estimation, was 
an extremely modest obstacle. 

It certainly appeared to be so; and Veronica, 
watching him as he popped over it, thought that the 
process looked perfectly easy and rather nice — only she 
had not quite taken in his meaning when he had 
warned her that the dun horse jumped big. That wise 
and well-meaning animal, realising what was required 
of him, cocked bis ears and followed his leader at his 
own pace, which was a rather quick one. Then, all of 
a sudden, and long before he had been expected to do 
so, he hurled himself up into the air. Veronica was 
conscious of a most extraordinary and sickening sensa- 
tion— of a tremendous jolt. And after that, the next 
thing she knew was that somebody had had a fall. 
She was not quite sure that it was herself until earth 
and sky had ceased whirling madly around her; but 
when she did recover her senses she became aware of a 


234 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


fact even more disconcerting than that she had been 
pitched over her horse’s head — namely, that she was in 
the presence of a group, composed of Dolly Cradock, 
Horace, • and two other young men, all of whom were 
gazing at her with countenances of almost unnatural 
gravity. 

“ Please laugh, if you want to laugh,” were the 
first words that she uttered. “ I should roar with 
laughter myself if this had happened to one of you.” 
And she could not help adding inwardly, “ Oh, how I 
wish it had ! ” 

But the good manners of the company proved equal 
to the demand made upon them, and nobody so much 
as indulged in a smile. One of the young men has- 
tened to assure her that their having witnessed her dis- 
comfiture was a pure accident — they had gone out for 
a walk, because there was nothing else to do, and had 
had no idea of meeting her and Trevor. Horace was 
full of solicitude and unwilling to believe that she had 
not hurt herself at all ; while Dolly rated him roundly 
for his stupidity. 

“ It was all your fault,” she declared. “ What did 
you want to go larking over hedges and ditches for ? 
If Veronica had broken her neck you would have de- 
served to be put on your trial for murder. One would 
think you were a tailor out for a bank holiday ! ” 

That was all very well, and Horace’s omission to 
plead the justification for his conduct which he might 
have pleaded was a thing to be as grateful for as one 
could manage to be ; but the humiliation was none the 


PRIDE HAS A FALL. 


235 


less complete. Veronica was, indeed, able to insist 
upon being placed in the saddle again, but she had to 
submit to be led home, the truth being that she had 
had more of a shake than she cared to admit. Dolly 
and her friends very considerately continued their walk, 
and little conversation took place between the affianced 
pair until the house was reached — for Horace’s anxious 
inquiries and reiterated apologies were scarcely an- 
swered. But when Veronica was lifted to the ground, 
she said rather forlornly — 

“ I am afraid it won’t do, Horace ; I am afraid it 
will never do.” 

“Well,” said he diffidently, yet with -an air of sub- 
dued relief which did not escape her, “ I am almost 
afraid it won’t, dear. Of course, you might try again 
with another class of horse, but ” 

“ Oh ! I shall not try again,” she answered, as she 
turned and left him. 


CHAPTER XX. 


VERONICA CHANGES HER MIND. 

It is one of the interesting peculiarities of our mor- 
tal nature that we are all of us apt to be dreadfully 
ashamed of things which reflect no real discredit upon 
us, while we can sit down comfortably enough under 
accusations which ought to make us very angry indeed. 
Veronica Dimsdale, who had no sins worth speaking of 
to reproach herself with, would have accepted with 
philosophy and indifference any charges which it might 
have pleased Aunt Julia’s and Horace’s friends to bring 
against her moral character ; but she found it a hard 
matter to forgive them for having seen her absurdly 
thrown from the back of a horse who had only done 
what she had asked him to do. 

Yet they were very kind and lenient with her. 
They scarcely alluded to her mishap that evening, nor 
were they unfeeling enough to make any inquiries after 
her aching head and limbs. Mrs. Mansfield, to be sure, 
lemarked : “ Well, my dear, all I can say is I hope this 
will be a lesson to you ! ” but everybody else seemed to 
understand how crestfallen she must be, and that it was 
a case of least said soonest mended. Perhaps this very 

( 236 ) 


VERONICA CHANGES HER MIND. 


237 


forbearance on their part vexed her almost more than 
open, good-humoured ridicule would have done — so im- 
possible is it to give satisfaction even to the best of 
women when she has quarrelled with herself ! 

But was there any occasion or excuse for quarrelling 
with Horace ? Not, of course, for quarrelling with him, 
Veronica thought ; but for breaking with him there 
might be, and she was more than half inclined to be- 
lieve that there were, sufficient reasons. The words of 
wisdom spoken by the experienced Mostyn had ger- 
minated in her mind and were beginning to bear fruit ; 
the equally wise observations of Dolly Cradock, which 
she had involuntarily overheard, could not but have 
some weight with her ; she perceived, not only that she 
would never be able to participate in Horace’s pursuits, 
but that he did not at all wish her to do so, and she 
asked herself whether it was too late even now to aban- 
don an impracticable scheme. 

One thing which made her feel that it was imprac- 
ticable, and that he might very possibly agree with her 
in deeming it so, was his uneasy, half-apologetic de- 
meanour in her presence and the evident alacrity with 
which he quitted her side to join Dolly Cradock and 
the other young people. This, had she but known it, 
was neither more nor less than the reflection of her own 
manner, which was constrained, and of which he did 
not know what to make. He was aware that he had, 
somehow or other, offended her, but, having a clear con- 
science in the matter, and fearing lest he should put his 
foot into it more deeply by questioning her, he fell back 
16 


238 A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 

upon the system — not a bad system in itself — which 
he had always adopted in his dealings with an incom- 
prehensible sex and left her to come round at her lei- 
sure. 

Thus for three days a breach which could hardly be 
called a breach at the outset went on widening at a pace 
much more perceptible to one of those between whom it 
yawned than to the other. Veronica still felt sure of 
Horace’s good faith, but she felt a good deal less sure 
than she had done that he was not deceiving himself. 
What was so obvious as to be beyond dispute was that he 
was awkward and silent with her, whereas he was merry 
and talkative with Dolly, of whose society he never ap- 
peared to weary. Moreover, setting him and his wishes 
aside, did it not behove her to consider herself a little ? 
“ If I could have hunted with him and managed to like 
the people whom he likes, I might have played my part 
fairly well,” she thought, but I doubt whether I have it 
in me to ‘ stifle myself,’ as Mr. Mostyn says : I am too an- 
gular to fit into this sort of life, and perhaps it is almost 
as silly of me to attempt it as to try riding a horse over 
a bank.” 

Well, at any rate, Dolly was not destined to outshine 
her in the latter respect just then, for now a hard frost 
set in, with low, black clouds sailing up from the north- 
east, which presently broke over Broxham in those 
small feathery flakes hated by all men in this temperate 
clime. Russian and Canadian winters have their good 
points and bring their amusements with them ; but 
snow in England is an accursed thing, coming upon us 


VERONICA CHANGES HER MIND. 


239 


unawares, depriving us of all forms of outdoor exercise 
and too often rendering us snappish with our fellow- 
sufferers. Veronica was not exactly snappish ; but she 
retired to the library and read all day long by herself, 
while disconsolate sportsmen sat in the smoking-room 
and used language unfit for the ears of refined persons. 

However, there was one person in the house who 
was not so refined but that she could endure to listen to 
a few profane words, uttered under so great provoca- 
tion. What she could by no means endure was to be 
deprived of male companionship ; so she assembled 
them all in the billiard-room, where they played pool 
during an entire afternoon, and where, to judge by the 
shouts of laughter which were audible from time to 
time even in the remote quietude of the library, she was 
successful in raising their spirits. Veronica paused in 
her reading every now and then to listen to them, and 
thought to herself, “ How infinitely better it would have 
been if that horse had broken my neck for me ! Then, 
about a year hence, Dolly would be here as mistress of 
the establishment, and all manner of troublesome com- 
plications would be averted.” 

iVot having had her neck broken, it only remained for 
her to make the best of troublesome complications, and 
the more she thought about it all the less sanguine did 
she feel of receiving any help from those for whose sake 
she had almost decided to cancel existing arrangements. 
As for Aunt Julia and others less directly interested, 
they would of course make her life a burden to her, but 
she would have to bear that. They certainly would not 


240 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


be sorry for her, so she felt at liberty to bestow a good 
deal of pity upon herself, while she sat gazing at the 
blurred, dreary landscape, and listening to those irri- 
tating periodical outbursts of hilarity which reached her 
from the distant billiard-room. 

In the meantime, she had not been so completely 
forgotten as it suited her mood to assume. Horace, 
who had been enjoying himself pretty well, but who 
could not help thinking that she must find it a little bit 
slow to be left all alone for so many hours together, 
would have been only too delighted if she had seen fit to 
join the pool-players ; but as she did not do so, and as 
he supposed that that sort of thing was not very likely to 
amuse her, he took advantage at length of having been 
knocked out of the game to slip quietly away and see 
whether he could be of any use. 

“ Shall I disturb you if I come in ?” he asked hum- 
bly^ after opening the library door and inserting his 
head through the aperture. 

“ Not in the least,” answered Veronica. “ On the 
contrary, you are the very person whom I was wishing 
to see ; and it is getting too dark to read.” 

“ Well, I’m glad you were wishing to see me,” said 
Horace cheerfully, as he advanced and drew up a chair 
beside hers. “ I wasn’t sure that you would be, though 
I needn’t tell you that I have been wishing to see you 
all the afternoon.” 

“ Really ? I should have thought, by the noise you 
have been making, that you were tolerably satisfied with 
what you had got.” 




VERONICA CHANGES HER MIND. 


241 


“ Have they been kicking np an awful shindy ? ” 
asked Horace. “ It wasn’t me — it was the other fellows 
and Dolly Cradock. You can’t keep them from bear- 
fighting when a lot of them get together like that. 
And I must say that Dolly is rare sport,” he added, 
with a retrospective snigger. 

“ I have no doubt of it,” answered Veronica drily; 
| “ she is as much in her element here as I am out of 
mine. Nobody, I am sure, will ever accuse me of being 
rare sport.” 

“ Oh ! of course you’re different,” assented Hor- 
ace. 

“ Altogether different, and, unfortunately, I always 
shall be. I have realised that now, and I ought to 
have realised it sooner.” 

“But, good gracious! you don’t want to be like 
; her, do you ? ” asked Horace. 

“No, I can’t honestly say that I do ; but I wish, for 
your sake, that I were more like her in some respects. 

! However, since that is impossible, we won’t talk about 
; it. Horace, I am going to say something which I am 
1 afraid will distress you at first ; but try to hear me out 
patiently, and try to believe that it is distressing to me, 
too, to be obliged to say it. I have been thinking 
I things over during the last few days, and I have come 
to the conclusion that I did very wrong to accept you. 
It isn’t your fault, and perhaps it isn’t so very much 
mine, that we are hopelessly ill-suited to one another ; 
still, there is the fact, which is obvious to everybody, 
and we had much better recognise it at at once than 


242 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


wait until there is no remedy. Now, what I want you 
to understand is this ” 

“ I understand,” interrupted Horace, “ that you want 
to throw me over. That is enough, and more than 
enough ! What have I done, Veronica ? ” 

“ Nothing that I have the slightest right to complain 
of or that you have any cause to reproach yourself with. 
It is I who have done things — or rather left them un- 
done. I should always leave them undone if I were to 
marry you, and you would always have to keep on mak- 
ing allowances for me — which would be frankly intoler- 
able ! I know this ought to have been said before, and 
I know I am treating you badly, in a certain sense. All 
I can say is that I should be treating you much worse 
if I allowed our engagement to go on. Don’t try to 
persuade me that it is not so ; if you do, you will only 
force me to say that I must break the engagement off 
on my own account.” 

“ If that is the truth I think it ought to be said,” 
returned Horace, looking very grave and unhappy. 
“ You can’t expect me to thank you for jilting me or to 
agree with you that you are doing it for my good.” 

“ I suppose not. Very well, then ; let it be taken 
for granted that I have changed my mind. Only you 
must not think that I care less for you than I did when 
I thought that I could be your wife.” 

“You told me at the time that you did not love 
me,” remarked Horace disconsolately. 

“ Exactly so, and that is just why I cannot marry 
you. I still think that it need not have been an insu- 


VERONICA CHANGES HER MIND. 


243 


perable objection, if we had had anything at all in com- 
mon, just as our having nothing in common would not 
have mattered, if we had been really in love with one 
another ; but as things are ” 

“ At least you can’t doubt that I really love you, 
Veronica!” broke in Horace. “I always hoped that 
you would come to love me, too, in time. It didn’t 
seem so utterly impossible.” 

“ 1 am sure you mean what you say,” answered Ve- 
ronica ; “ but people don’t always know their own minds 
— am I not a proof of it? We won’t talk of what 
might have been, though ; the future, not the past, is 
what we have to consider, and you can still make my 
future comparatively smooth for me, if you choose.” 

“ Of course I should choose to do that, if I could,” 
answered Horace rather coldly ; “ but as my future is 
to have, nothing to do with yours, I don’t quite see how 
I can.” 

“ Well, I will tell you. Before I went out riding 
with you the other day, it suddenly occurred to me that 
I was running some risk of coming to an untimely end, 
and that it would be a most unfortunate thing if I were 
to die intestate. So I made my will, and, naturally, I 
left this place to you.” 

“ Under the circumstances, that was a natural thing 
to do, no doubt,” answered Horace, since she seemed to 
expect that he should say something. 

44 It would have been natural under any circum- 
stances. You know what my feeling is about Broxham. 
It ought not to belong to me ; I have never regarded it 


244 A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 

as really belonging to me, and even if I had, I should 
take the first opportunity of getting rid of it ; for I 
don’t like the place, and don’t mean to live here. Now 
do you understand how you may make my path easy for 
me and help me to face the fury of Aunt Julia? ” 

“ Can’t say I do.” 

“Oh, I think you do, Horace! You would rather 
not accept a gift from me? Well, I wouldn’t ask you 
to accept it, if it were really a gift ; but it is nothing of 
the sort, it is merely an act of restitution. Don’t let 
us argue about it — we both of us know so well all that 
there is to be urged for and against the arrangement ! 
— let us simply agree that the thing is to be done and 
never say another word about the matter. Then per- 
haps we may be friends again — which is what I most 
long for.” 

“ I am afraid you will have to long in vain, Veron- 
ica,” returned Horace rather grimly. “ I can’t prevent 
you from throwing me over, and, after what you have 
said, I mustn’t try, but I am not going to pretend that 
I feel particularly friendly towards you. As for taking 
your property off your hands, you need not have the 
slightest fear of my arguing such a preposterous ques- 
tion as that. If you are bent upon getting rid of it, I 
dare say you may find some accommodating person with- 
out advertising for him, only I can assure you that he 
won’t be found in my skin. Now I must say good-bye ; 
I shall pack up and be off this evening. The sooner I 
am out of this the more comfortable it will be for every- 
body.” 


VERONICA CHANGES HER MIND. 


245 


She could not let him go like that ; yet a quarter of 
an hour of earnest entreaty and lucid setting forth of 
all the circumstances proved of no avail to shake his 
determination. When at length he was asked to say 
whether it was not the truth — “ the honest truth, which 
you may confess without offending me in the least ” — 
that he now cared more for Dolly Oradock than he had 
when he hastily engaged himself to a girl so much less 
in sympathy with him, he declined to answer the ques- 
tion. 

“You can think just exactly what you please about 
that, Veronica,” said he; “if it makes you any happier 
to imagine that I can be passed on to somebody else 
now that you don’t want me, by all means imagine it. 
The only thing that had to be made clear was that you 
don’t want me, and that has been made as clear as day- 
light by this time.” 

“ You will live to marry her, and you will live to 
thank me for having left you free to do so,” Veronica 
declared decisively. “ What I have to do now is to see 
the lawyers and find some means of transferring this 
place to you with your will or against it. To that you 
had better make up your mind.” 

Horace, with a slight, disdainful gesture, remarked 
that it was gettiug late and that he would just have 
time to catch his train. “ I shall leave a message for 
Aunt Julia to say that I have been telegraphed for,” he 
added, as he moved towards the door ; “ I don’t want 
you to be exposed to any annoyance that can be avoided, 
and white lies are permissible on these occasions. The 


246 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


next time you see your friend Mr. Mostyn, please tell 
him, with my compliments, that I fully understand 
how much you and I have to thank him for. And, per- 
haps, if nobody else will relieve you of Broxham, you 
might offer the place to him. He is such a true friend 
that I shouldn’t wonder if you were to find him willing 
to oblige you.” 

These last words, which were spoken with consider- 
able bitterness, caused Veronica, after she was left to 
her own reflections, to regret that she had introduced 
Mr. Mostyn’s opinion into a fruitless discussion ; but 
that, after all, was a mere drop in the ocean of her re- 
grets, and she did not dwell upon it. Horace, to be 
sure, had not behaved quite as generously as he might 
have done ; yet she was fain to allow that he had not 
behaved unlike a gentleman. He had accepted his dis- 
missal ; he had not been unduly reproachful ; he had 
been entirely within his right in refusing either to ad- 
mit or deny his affection for Dolly Cradock, and he had 
also, alas ! been within his right in scouting the material 
amends so clumsily proffered to him. 

“ I had to do what I have done,” said Veronica to 
herself, mournfully ; “ but I have done it in the worst 
possible way, and what is to be the end of it all I can’t 
see yet. Mr. Walton must manage it for me somehow, 
and in the meantime I must submit uncomplainingly to 
the dreadful things which Aunt Julia is sure to do and 
say.” 


CHAPTER XXL 


MUSA CONSOLATRIX. 

Readers who are blessed with good memories may 
recollect that they were first introduced to the Reverend 
John Dimsdale when he was seated in his study on a 
sunny, windy morning, wrestling with the difficulties 
and discouragements unhappily inseparable from the 
labour of composition ; and no one who is acquainted 
with the monotonous routine of working lives, whether 
lay or clerical, will be surprised to find him occupied in 
the same way, at the same hour and in the same place, 
exactly twelve months later. A year, it is true, makes a 
greater or less difference to us all. Things happen ; 
births, deaths, or marriages occur ; the bodies which we 
are compelled to carry about with us advance a few steps 
on their slow progress towards decay ; but the land must 
be tilled, soldiers and sailors must be drilled, the law 
must be administered, sermons must be written so long 
as weary labourers continue to draw the breath of life, 
and it may be surmised that sermons do not become 
easier to write when a man has, many years ago, said all 
he has to say. To be sure, he can keep on repeating 
what he has said scores of times before, and most preach- 

( 247 ) 


248 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


ers adopt this simple plan, but Mr. Dimsdale, who had a 
troublesome conscience, wanted to find new words in 
which to clothe old thoughts, and since he could not 
find them, he was rumpling his hair and plucking at his 
beard, as of yore, when his wife came in to substitute one 
form of torture for another. 

“ John,” said she, seating herself comfortably close to 
the writing-table, “ I want to have a little talk with you 
about Veronica.” 

Mr. Dimsdale sighed, pushed back his revolving 
chair, turned, so as to face the disturber of his already 
disturbed reflections, threw one leg over the other and 
remarked, “ My dear Elizabeth, the talks that we have 
had for some weeks past about Veronica have been 
neither little nor few. If you do not know what my views 
are, I can only say that I despair of being able to give 
them any clearer expression.” 

“Well, John,” returned his wife good-humouredly, 
“ I daresay I am dull ; but the fact is that I don’t know 
a bit what your views are. I know that you have backed 
her up all through this foolish, vexatious business ; but 
why you have done so and how long you think that it 
can go on is just what I do not understand.” 

“ Yet it seemed to me that I had explained my posi- 
tion,” observed the Reverend John, with impatient pa- 
tience. “ The girl breaks off an engagement which was 
a source of satisfaction to all her friends, her reason for 
breaking it off being that, on fuller consideration, she 
finds that she does not love the man enough to marry 
him. I cannot disapprove of that, although I may re- 


MUSA CONSOLATRIX. 


249 


g ret that the discovery was not made earlier. She pro- 
poses to make her estate over to Horace Trevor, who, 
very properly and as a matter of course, refuses it. I 
thought the plan a ridiculous and impracticable one, 
and I told her so ; but I really cannot disapprove of an 
impulse which strikes me as generous. Her aunt — 
rather cruelly and unnecessarily, in my opinion — chooses 
to quarrel with her ; and, as she cannot very well live all 
alone in a large country house, she asks me to give her 
shelter. Considering what are our obligations to Veron- 
ica, you can hardly, I should think, have expected me 
to refuse so natural a request, and I am quite unable to 
see the use of teasing and worrying her now that she is 
here. If that is what you call backing her up, no doubt 
I have backed her up. You ask how long I think it is 
going to last. Really, I have not the faintest idea ; nor 
can I tell with any precision what you mean by ‘ it ’ ! ” 

“ Why, the present state of things, of course. Say 
what you will, John, it is absurd for a girl with all her 
money to bury herself alive in a country rectory. Such 
an arrangement can’t be permanent ; and, fond as I am 
of Veronica, I do feel that she ought to be brought to 
her senses. It is useless for me to speak to her — she sets 
me down as worldly and heartless and all the rest of it 
— but a few words from you would carry some weight ; 
and really it is your duty to say them. Some decision 
as to what her future is to be must be arrived at 
soon.” 

“ Is there any particular reason,” inquired Mr. 
Dimsdale wearily, “ for our arriving this morning at a 


250 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


decision which, so far as I can make out, we have no 
power at all to enforce ? ” 

“Don’t talk as if you were on the bench, John, and 
as if it were a question of whether the girl was to be 
sent to a reformatory or committed for trial. I only 
wanted to tell you that I have had a letter from Mrs. 
Mansfield — a very kind and sensible letter, too — in 
which she says that she wishes to make it up again with 
Veronica and that she will be glad to chaperon her 
through another season.” 

“ So be it ! Veronica’s consent must be obtained, 
though.” 

“ Just so ; and I hope you will tell her that it is her 
duty to consent. Marry she must — I am sure you will 
agree with me there, John — and as she is determined 
not to marry poor Mr. Trevor, the sooner she selects 
somebody else the better.” 

This sounded so very like truth and common sense 
that Mr. Dimsdale had nothing to urge against it. 
Undoubtedly Veronica, situated as she was, would do 
well to marry; undoubtedly she ought to accept the 
olive-branch held out to her by her Aunt Julia; so he 
said that, if he might now be permitted to get on with 
his work, he would do what was required of him as soon 
as his niece came in. 

Veronica, in accordance with what had become her 
daily habit, had gone out for a long, objectless walk. 
The want of an object, both for her walks and for her 
existence, had weighed heavily upon her since her 
return to Harbury Vale, and now, as she wandered 


MUSA CONSOLATRIX. 


251 


along tlie river-bank, she was wishing with all her heart 
that she had been spared an inheritance which had 
brought her nothing but worry and vexation, besides 
estranging her from those with whom she would fain 
have maintained friendly relations. The wrath and 
disgust of Mrs. Mansfield she had anticipated and could 
forgive; but to be roundly told by Mr. Walton that she 
was quite the most hopelessly silly young lady whom it 
had ever been his misfortune to encounter had been a 
little trying, while Horace’s obstinate refusal to play the 
part assigned to him almost made her repent of what 
she had done. Perhaps, after all, she had been hope- 
lessly silly — though no respectable solicitor should have 
permitted himself to use such language. Perhaps, if 
she had been hopefully wise, or even wise without being 
hopeful, she would have let matters take their course — 
made the best of a bad business, and recognised the fact 
that in this world nobody must expect to get exactly 
what he or she wants. And the worst of it was that, 
with the exception of poor old Uncle John, who always 
tried to be fair, there was not a single person to under- 
stand her or sympathise with her in the smallest degree. 
Even Joe, upon whose comprehension and fidelity she 
had implicitly relied, and to whom she had rendered, 
by post, a full account of her actions as well as of the 
motives which had prompted them, had been most dis- 
appointing. Her long letters to him had only elicted 
curt and very unsatisfactory replies, which had rendered 
it only too evident that he shared, without expressing 
them, the views of Mr. Walton. Finally, Horace had 


252 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


answered a despairing epistolary appeal, addressed to his 
club, by a note which she had already perused several 
times, but which she now drew from her pocket and 
read again, just to keep alive the feeling of justifiable 
resentment which it had provoked. 

“ Dear Veronica — I have received your letter and 
the communication which your lawyers say that they 
were instructed to make to me on your behalf. I am 
sorry that you should have thought there could be any 
use in giving such instructions or writing such a letter. 
On my side I cannot see that there would be any use at 
all in my repeating what I have said so often before. 
What your opinion of me can be I know no more than 
I know what I have done to deserve it ; but least said 
soonest mended. I saw Aunt Julia the other day, and 
managed at last to persuade her that the time has come 
for her to stop shedding tears over spilt milk. I do 
trust that the subject may now be dropped for ever. 

“ Always sincerely yours, 

“Horace Trevor.” 

How, that really was not at all a nice sort of response 
to make to two closely written sheets of affectionate en- 
treaty, and it just showed the difficulty of taking any 
man’s measure before subjecting him to a severe test. 
Mr. Mostyn, indeed, had divined what Horace was at a 
glance ; but then Mr. Mostyn was so abnormally acute ! 
Mr. Mostyn, unhappily, was away from home, having 
taken himself off to Italy to avoid the cold weathef ; so 


MUSA CONSOLATRIX. 


253 


that his moral support also was wanting to one who 
stood in sore need of it. 

“ How I wish he would come back ! Then, at least, 
I should feel that I had one friend left!” sighed Ve- 
ronica ; and hardly had she breathed the words when, 
with truly dramatic promptitude, her revered poet stood 
before her, his soft felt hat in his hand, his curly griz- 
zled locks stirred by the wind, and a smile of greeting 
upon his lips. 

“ I am in advance of the swallows, you see,” said he. 
“ It is shameful to abandon Italy for England at a time 
of the year when Italy is delicious and England detest- 
able ; but che vuole ? I was seized with a sudden attack 
of home-sickness, and the only cure for that malady is 
to make straight for home.” 

“ Blessed malady and blessed cure ! ” exclaimed Ve- 
ronica. “ It isn’t everybody who has a home to make 
for, and I am sure very few people could count upon as 
heartfelt a welcome as I have at your service. I was just 
longing for you when you appeared, like a god out of an 
osier-bed.” 

“ Dear me ! ” said Mr. Mostyn, raising his eyebrows ; 
“ it is lucky I am not twenty years younger.” 

“ It would indeed be most unlucky if you were, be- 
cause, in that case, I might hesitate to confide all my 
woes to you. I have been doing terrible things — partly 
in consequence of your advice, it is true — since we 
parted.” 

“ So I understand. Not that 1 think them terrible, 
or that I repent in the least of my advice.” 

17 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


254 

“ You have heard all about it, then ? ” 

“Well, I have heard that that impossible matri- 
monial scheme has been abandoned. Is there anything 
more to be told ? ” 

“ Heaps more ! ” answered Veronica emphatically. 
“ The abandonment of a scheme which, I quite agree 
with you, was an impossible one, is the very least of my 
troubles — not a trouble at all, in fact; the dreadful 
thing is that it hasn’t brought about any of the results 
which ought to have followed.” 

She went on to relate how completely her benevolent 
designs had been frustrated by the perversity of those 
for whose benefit they had been formed, while Mr. 
Mostyn, listening with a kindly, tolerant smile, nodded 
his head encouragingly every now and then. 

“ Oh, well ! ” he said, when she paused, “ I don’t 
see that you have so very much to make yourself miser- 
able about. From my point of view, you have done 
a great deal better than might have been expected. 
There were a good many dangers before you, you see — 
the deceitfulness of riches, out of which you seem to 
have escaped triumphantly; the voluntary surrender 
of your highest aspirations, upon which you were bent 
when ‘I saw you last ; even the sacrifice of your inherit- 
ance, which, in my humble opinion, you have no right 
to hand over to the first comer. Oh, yes ! you have 
done very fairly well, and such incidental bothers as 
the displeasure of your relations will soon be lived 
down. At all events, you remain your own mistress 
and can order the couise of your own existence.” 


MUSA CONSOLATRIX. 


255 


“Yes, there is that,” agreed Veronica hesitatingly. 
“ To some extent I am at liberty, no doubt. But what 
is to become of Horace ? ” 

“ I do not know him well enough to venture upon a 
prophecy, and, honestly speaking, his destiny does not 
interest me. Yours, on the other hand, does; and that 
is why I am in hopes that yoij have a few pages of fools- 
cap to show me.” 

Veronica gave her shoulders a jerk and thrust her 
hand into her pocket. “ It is rubbish,” she said ; “ no- 
body knows better than I do what rubbish it is. Still, 
you had better see what I have scribbled at once and 
have done with it. If I made you beg for a sight of it 
you might think it was something superior to mere 
schoolgirl’s doggerel, and then you would be all the 
more disappointed.” 

Mr. Mostyn took the little bundle of manuscript 
extended to him and ran his eye over one page after 
another without speaking. Presently he produced a 
pencil and made a few rapid corrections. 

“ This is not doggerel,” he said at length. “ As far 
as it goes, it is good — very good, even ; only you will 
write far better when metre and rhyme have become 
your servants instead of your masters. What I want 
you to understand is that it is worth your while to per- 
severe, and I hope you know that I should not say that 
unless I could say it conscientiously.” 

In matters pertaining to art he was invariably con- 
scientious, and the brief, lucid homily which he went 
on to deliver was of value to his pupil in more ways than 


256 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


one. By the time that he took his leave of her, after 
appointing her a task to perform and submit to him on 
a given day, he had so far infected her with his own 
quiet enthusiasm that the troubles which had looked 
so large half an hour before now seemed to her to have 
been reduced to their true insignificant proportions. 
A poetess she hardly expected to become; but she 
thought there perhaps might always lie open to her a 
haven of refuge and oblivion from the calm shelter of 
which she would be able to smile at ephemeral cares. 
In truth, that is why artists ought to be happy people, 
and very generally are so, despite their vehement pro- 
testations to the contrary. 

Thus, on her return to the Rectory, she was quite in 
a fit frame of mind to receive the representations of 
the Rector, who had possessed himself of Mrs. Mans- 
field’s conciliatory missive and waved it at her persua- 
sively, while pointing out how much family quarrels are 
to be deprecated. 

“ I ask nothing better than to be friends with Aunt 
J ulia again,” she declared, “ and I know very well what 
good reason I have given her for losing all patience 
with me; but as for going through another London 
season under her protection, that is a very different 
thing. To her it could only be a disappointing thing, 
because I have made up my mind now to live and die 
an old maid, and to me it would be a weariness of the 
flesh, because I have seen all that I want to see of fash- 
ionable life. But, of course, if I am in your way or a 
trouble to you here, I will go.” 


MUSA CONSOLATRIX. 


257 


Mr. Dimsdale combed his beard with his long fin- 
gers, moved restlessly about the room, and began : “ My 
dear Veronica, the very least thing that we can do, in 
return for your generosity to us, is to give you a 
home ” 

“ If you talk like that,” interrupted Veronica,” I 
shall leave to-morrow.” 

“ Well, well, my dear, I know what you mean, and I 
trust that I have acted rightly in accepting your help, 
though I cannot always feel sure about it. But what I 
was going to say was that it is almost imperative, upon 
you to marry, and that you ought not to neglect occa- 
sions of meeting some possible husband. You must, I 
take it, eventually reside upon your estates, and a single 
woman of your age who attempts to live in that way 
necessarily finds herself, confronted by a thousand 
obstacles.” 

“ All of which,” remarked Veronica, laughing, “ can 
be obliterated by a few strokes with a pen. My estates 
will not trouble me long; because I intend to transfer 
them to some other luckless, or lucky, person.” 

“ But the other persons, as I understand, won’t have 
them.” 

“ One other person won’t ; but I have a second string 
to my bow — even a third, and perhaps a fourth. Xow, 
Uncle John, you know human nature so well — for you 
could not preach the sermons you do unless you knew it 
— must be well aware that people are not so desperately 
disobliging as all that. Why, you collected as much as 
three pounds four shillings and twopence for the victims 


258 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


of an earthquake last week ; and can you doubt that 
somewhere or other there is a kind soul to be found who 
will accept several thousand acres of earth that is never 
likely to quake, rather than leave it as a burden upon 
the hands of a distressed fellow-creature.” 

“ This is trifling, Veronica,” said the Keverend John, 
shaking his head. “ But at all events, you will write a 
pleasant letter to your Aunt Julia, will you not?” 

“ Oh, yes ! I will write her a pleasant letter,” an- 
swered Veronica, “ as soon as I have satisfied the cravings 
of an enormous appetite. Now may I have some lunch, 
please ? ” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


JOSEPH IS WILLING TO OBLIGE. 

Who would not wish, for choice, to he at peace with 
all the world? Judging by the law reports and the tele- 
graphic despatches from foreign capitals which enliven 
our breakfast-tables every morning, there must be quite 
a large number of persons who prefer a different state of 
things ; but to judge people by their utterances is almost 
always a mistake, and perhaps we should come nearer to 
the truth if we were to assume that our neighbours were 
made of very much the same clay as ourselves. Now, 
nothing can be more certain than that we, the writer 
and readers of these words, are and always have been 
satisfied with a recognition of our bare rights — are even, 
it may be, willing to dispense with some of these for the 
sake of a quiet life. Veronica, therefore, who was not 
at all more unreasonable than the rest of her sex, gladly 
accepted Mrs. Mansfield’s overtures, and despatched so 
amiable and humble a reply to South Audley Street 
that her reluctance to quit rural scenes for the moment 
was overlooked. The next post brought a second letter 
from Aunt Julia, conceived in a spirit of true kindliness 
and forbearance. 


(259 


260 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ My dear Veronica” (she wrote), “I entirely agree 
with you in thinking that the less we say for the future 
about what is now past and cannot be helped the better. 
Perhaps I spoke rather too sharply to you before we left 
Broxham, and if I did, I can only say that I am sorry ; 
but you must admit — and I am glad to see you do admit — 
that I had very great provocation. As for quarrelling 
with those whom I love, it is a thing that I never have 
been able to do, though they have generally tried their 
best to make me, and you may be sure that when you 
come to London you will find no difference whatever in 
me. Horace, who called here a day or two ago, is, I am 
glad to tell you, in his usual health and spirits, and 
laughed most good-humouredly at the idea that he 
cherished any unfriendly feeling towards you. There 
are very few men, I should think, who would so readily 
pardon a girl for having made them look ridiculous ; 
but of course, as everybody says, Horace can afford to 
display generosity. Universally liked and admired as he 
is, he has the consolation (if he wants any) of knowing 
that his friends’ pity is bestowed rather upon you than 
upon him, and, after all, it isn’t as if he would ever have 
the slightest difficulty in making a really brilliant match. 
At the present moment, I know of more than one — 'how- 
ever, this will hardly interest you ; I only wanted you to 
understand that the self-reproach of which you speak in 
your letter, and which I can’t call unbecoming, is no 
longer necessary. 

“ By the way, I hear that there is every probability 
of a marriage being arranged between your friend Dolly 


JOSEPH IS WILLING TO OBLIGE. 


261 


Cradock and Mr. Hornblower, the well-known M. F. H., 
of whom you may have heard. He is a widower and not 
very young, but has plenty of money, I believe ; so it 
sounds suitable. Personally, as you know, I never could 
endure the girl’s vulgarity, and Horace, good-natured 
! though he is, must have found her a dreadful bore dur- 
ing her interminable visit to you ; but no doubt she has 
good qualities which I am not clever enough to discern, 
or you would not have taken such a fancy to her.” 

Mrs. Mansfield concluded what was meant for a very 
astute composition with many expressions of goodwill, 
and Veronica, reading between the lines easily enough, 

| was both amused and satisfied. That Dolly Cradock 
was about to espouse a wealthy old gentleman she be- 
lieved no more than she did that Horace was hesitating 
as to which out of a number of possible brilliant matches 
he should make ; but it was a comfort to be told that she 
was no longer in disgrace, and she kept Aunt Julia’s 
written statement, foreseeing that a time might come 
when it would prove useful for purposes of quotation. 

For the present, at any rate, there was nothing to be 
done but to await events and make the best use that 
could be made of Mr. Mostyn’s benevolent instruction in 
the art of poetry. These were bestowed upon her by the 
great critic without stint. Scarcely a day passed on 
which he did not either stroll up to the Rectory or ap- 
point a meeting-place with her elsewhere ; and although 
he was somewhat chary of his praise, he gave her suffi- 
cient encouragement to make her happy. 

“ All this,” he told her one day, “ is only schooling ; 


262 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


and the reason why there are more public failures in 
literature than in any other branch of art is that most 
people embark upon it without any preliminary school- 
ing at all. You must not think of putting these early 
efforts into the fire ; for the ideas are good and will be of 
use to you later. But the form is not quite right yet. 
Have patience, and a time will come when you will be 
able to see your poems in print and rejoice that they 
have been printed. I know at least one unfortunate 
poet who suffers acutely from the contemplation of his 
juvenile essays.” 

“ As if my very best could ever approach your very 
worst ! ” exclaimed Veronica. 

“ My worst is about as bad as anything can be, and 
my best is no more than tolerable. If I am remembered 
at all after my death it will be for my criticisms upon 
other men’s work, which are more careful than the gen- 
eral run of English criticisms. But to speak the plain 
truth, my dear Miss Dimsdale, neither you nor I have it 
in us to be really great. What we can do, and what we 
are doing, is to educate ourselves, so that we may be able 
to distinguish great things from small. The task is a 
tedious and difficult one ; but it is worth undertaking. 
Indeed, I often doubt whether anything else in the 
world is worth undertaking.” 

This seemed to be putting the case rather strongly ; 
but some exaggeration was permissible to a man whose 
aims were so lofty and who was so admirably free from 
all sordid taint. He applauded Veronica’s indifference 
to wealth, assuring her that what the majority of man- 


JOSEPH IS WILLING TO OBLIGE. 


263 


kind believe to be of such vast importance has very 
little to do with the actual meaning of life. 

“ One takes things as they come and shapes one’s 
course accordingly,” he said. “ Eesponsibilities cannot 
be altogether evaded ; but, with a just sense of propor- 
tion, they can soon be reduced to their proper level. 
When you have written a sonnet in which I am unable 
to pick a hole, you will have gone a long way towards 
fulfilling the object of your existence ; somebody who 
has not your special gifts must be paid to see that no 
holes can be picked in the management of your estates.” 

Veronica asked whether it would not be a simpler and 
better plan to endow somebody else with a special gift of 
the estates which she did not want ; but Mr. Mostyn re- 
plied, with a smile, that that plan struck him as lacking 
simplicity. 

“ You have already tried to put it into practice,” he 
remarked, “ and you have had an opportunity of observ- 
ing consequent complications. My advice to you is to 
attempt no further experiments in that direction, and to 
stick to what cannot any longer fairly be called experi- 
ments. By this time next year you will be looking at 
poetry and prose from such a totally different point of 
view that you will scarcely recognise yourself.” 

It might be so, Veronica thought; but she did not 
quite see why, even if she were destined to become a 
second Mrs. Browning, the Broxham property should be 
less of a white elephant to her. Profoundly as she ad- 
mired and respected Cyril Mostyn, there were moments 
when his language seemed to her to have an artificial 


264 : 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


ring, and when she longed for five minutes of the sober 
common-sense of Joe Dimsdale — or even of Horace 
Trevor. Not that she really wished to see Horace again. 
He had forfeited all claim upon her regard by the very 
rude and unfeeling reply which he had made to her 
letter — a reply, moreover, which had dispelled any lin- 
gering doubt that she might have entertained as to the 
nature of the regard which he had once professed to feel 
for her. But Joseph — although he, too, had exhibited 
himself in a somewhat disappointing light of late — was 
less unpardonable ; and a very great as well as wholly 
unexpected pleasure it was to see his tall, loosely knit 
figure advancing to meet her when she was returning 
one evening from her accustomed riverside haunts. 

“ You dear old boy ! ” she exclaimed, holding out 
both her hands to him with a cordiality which she could 
not repress, though she knew that he hardly deserved it. 
“ What has brought you home ? ” 

“ Great Northern Railway to King’s Cross, and 
Great Western from Paddington,” replied Joe. “ Like- 
wise filial duty ; likewise a long-cherished wish to tell 
you what I think of you, my dear. I found that I 
could be spared for about ten days, so I thought a little 
holiday might be good for me and others.” 

“ It is good for me, at all events, to see you again,” 
Veronica declared. “ That is, unless you are going to 
scold me. But I hope you will not be so foolish.” 

“ I shall not be so foolish, Veronica. What is the 
use of flogging a dead horse — or a dead donkey either, 
saving your presence ? You have been and gone and 


JOSEPH IS WILLING TO OBLIGE. 


265 


done it now, so that scolding would serve no good pur- 
pose, would it ? ” 

“ None whatever,” answered Veronica, placing her- 
self at once in a mental fighting attitude ; “ so please 
don’t fulfil your threat of telling me what you think of 
me. I have no wish to hear.” 

“ The worst of it is,” remarked Joe, lighting his 
pipe with much deliberation, “ that I don’t quite see 
my way to talk to you at all without expressing my 
sentiments. Added to which, I don’t know of any rea- 
son why I shouldn’t express them.” 

“ Surely you might allow me to take them for 
granted ! You think what everybody else, except Mr. 
Mostyn and Uncle John, thinks ; you have no patience 
with me for having upset a comfortable, convenient 
arrangement at the last moment, and you are not at all 
disposed to give me credit for having done what I did 
simply because it was unavoidable. I might have ex- 
pected you to be a little more generous and a little less 
dense ; but never mind. One comfort is that I need 
not apologise to you, since you will be in no way a loser 
by what has occurred.” 

“ Dear me ! Who would ever have suspected you of 
having such a shrewish temper ? Man and boy, I have 
known you, I may say, all my life, Veronica, and this is 
the first time that I have heard you make a really nasty 
speech. But I am not offended. I can feel for a young 
woman who has every reason to be ashamed of herself 
and who falls back, as women always do, upon abuse 
when she is conscious of having no defence to offer.” 


26G 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ Joseph, you are trying to make me lose my temper, 
and you might spare yourself the trouble, for you will 
not succeed. I am not going to be put upon my de- 
fence by you, nor have I said anything in the least 
abusive. Now let us change the subject. I hope you 
have been getting some shooting in Lincolnshire lately.” 

“ It is kind of you to hope so, my dear ; but shoot- 
ing comes to an end on the same date in Lincolnshire 
as in the other parts of England. Consequently, I have 
been devoting my whole time and attention of late to 
the study of agriculture, as per agreement ; and I trust 
you will not have cause to regret your liberality in pro- 
viding me with the means of completing my education.” 

Veronica thought this last allusion so cruel and in 
such bad taste that she had much ado to keep the tears 
out of her eyes. She walked on for some yards before 
she could trust sufficiently to the steadiness of her voice 
to remark — 

“ Well, if I have made a nasty speech to you, you 
have made a very nasty one to me now. So we may cry 
quits.” And then, letting her dignity go by the board, 
“ Don’t you turn against me, Joe ! ” she exclaimed be- 
seechingly ; “ I have so few friends left ! ” 

“ Portrait of one of ’em,” returned Joe, tapping 
himself on the breast. “ Now, Veronica, you know 
very well that I shouldn’t turn against you if you had 
committed a murder, instead of only having tried to 
cut your own throat ; but I must say that you are a bit 
aggravating. I daresay you will have the grace to ad- 
mit that you have kicked up all this dust about noth- 


JOSEPH IS WILLING TO OBLIGE. 


207 


ing when I tell you a piece of news which only reached 
me yesterday. I have the pleasure to inform you that a 
marriage has been arranged, and will shortly take place, 
between Miss Cradock and an old chap of the name of 
Hornblower, who has lots of tin and keeps any 
number of horses. What do you think of that, my 
dear ? ” 

“ Oh, I heard from Aunt Julia that there was a 
probability of that engagement,” answered Veronica in- 
differently. “ I think that, as she says, it sounds suit- 
able ; but I don’t know why you should have thought it 
was likely to have any special interest for me.” 

“ Come, Veronica, this is hardly fair upon an old 
pal, from whom you used to have no secrets once upon 
a time. You don’t expect me to believe that you 
weren’t madly jealous of Miss Dolly Cradock when you 
broke with Trevor, do you ? ” 

“ I am sorry to say, Joseph,” answered Veronica, 
“ that I can expect nothing reasonable of you in your 
present mood. I certainly did hope and think that 
Dolly and Horace would marry, because I am sure that 
they are fond of one another ; but I suppose the truth 
is that they are both too selfish to face poverty, and un- 
fortunately they cannot be persuaded to accept com- 
parative riches. As for jealousy — but it really isn’t 
worth while to protest against such accusations. As 
you know, I never pretended to be in love with Horace. 
At first I thought that I could marry him without being 
in love with him ; but afterwards I found that I 
couldn’t, and so I was obliged to break off the engage- 


268 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


ment. That is the long and the short of the whole 
business.” 

Joe looked a good deal disconcerted. He had evi- 
dently anticipated that the intelligence which he had 
probably journeyed to Harbury Yale for the sole pur- 
pose of imparting to his cousin would have a very differ- 
ent effect upon her, and Veronica was not ungrateful to 
him for his well-meant interference. It was, however, 
necessary to make him recognise that he had been 
under a complete misapprehension, and, after hearing 
all that she had to say, he was fain to acquiesce sadly in 
accomplished facts. 

“And what do you propose to do now, Veronica?” 
he asked at length. 

“ That is just what I was going to tell you, and that 
is just where I hope I may count upon your help, Joseph. 
Of course, if I could have made over Broxham to Horace 
Trevor, I should have preferred to do so ; but it is now 
quite certain that he will not take the property from me, 
and it is quite as certain that I can’t retain it with any 
comfort to myself. Therefore I wish to transfer it with 
as little delay as possible to the person who would inherit 
it if I were to die to-morrow ; and you are that person, 
Joseph. It is true that you are rather young; but you 
know something about the management of an estate by 
this time, and you like a country life, and you can’t pos- 
sibly have the same objections that Horace has to reliev- 
ing me of my burden.” 

“Well, no,” answered Joe, consideringly; “I can’t 
plead those objections, certainly.” 


JOSEPH IS WILLING TO OBLIGE. 


2G9 


“ And after a time you will marry, and perhaps I 
shall be godmother to one of your children, and I shall 
come and stay with you sometimes.” 

Joe nodded. “ It all sounds very nice and very prac- 
ticable,” he agreed. 

“ Then let us look upon it as settled. You have no 
idea what a weight you have taken off my mind ! ” 

“ Stop a bit,” said Joe, knocking the ashes out of his 
pipe against the heel of his boot and taking some time 
over the operation. “ Of course you are making me a 
very handsome offer, Veronica, and I don’t deny that the 
life of a country gentleman would suit me rather better 
than any other ; still, a step of this kind ought not to be 
I taken without considering ways and means, and I doubt 
| whether I could afford to live at Broxham even if the 
; place belonged to me. It’s a big house, you see, and 
from what I heard when I was with you there I am 
afraid the rent-roll isn’t as big as it ought to be.” 

“ Oh, but I will provide the means as well,” said 
\ Veronica. “At least, I will, unless you object to taking 
money from me.” 

“ That will simplify matters,” observed Joe. “ No, I 
don’t object to taking money any more than I do to tak- 
! ing land : after all, you are only giving me what you 
| don’t want. How large a sum will it be?” 

“Well — it shall be sufficient; I don’t think I ought 
to say more until I have consulted Mr. Walton,” answered 
j Veronica ; for the truth was that she had hardly expected 
i to find Joe so businesslike, and she could not help feel- 
ing a little disappointed in him. 

18 


270 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ Quite right,” answered the young fellow, nodding 
approvingly. “ If this thing is to be done at all it must 
be done in cold blood, and we must both of us know 
what we are about. Meanwhile, we had better keep the 
project to ourselves in case it should never come off. 
Don’t you think so ? ” 

Veronica had no doubt as to that, nor was she un- 
willing to agree to Joe’s further suggestion that they 
should now dismiss the whole subject from their minds. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE DOWNFALL OF AN IDOL. 

To decide in haste is almost always to repent at 
leisure, and Veronica was not wholly exempt from an 
experience which few men and still fewer women 
escape. In vain she told herself that her determina- 
tion to resign Broxham had been consistent and well 
considered ; in vain she pleaded with her conscience 
that she had used every possible effort to do what was 
right in her surrender of the property, and that it was 
no fault of hers if in this particular case right had 
proved, through obstinacy and perversity, to be left. 
Conscience, not less obstinate and, perhaps, not less 
perverse, persisted in asserting that Horace Trevor was 
an injured man. 

“ But not by me ! ” Veronica returned, tossing un- 
easily upon her bed at an hour when she ought to have 
been fast asleep. “ How can I help his having fallen to 
the ground between two stools ? Why did he try to sit 
upon both? Why did he make me believe that he 
loved me when it was as evident as could be that he 
really cared for Dolly Cradock ? If he is disappointed, 
now that she has shown herself in her true colours, he 

( 271 ) 


272 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


has only himself to blame. What more could I do than 
beg him to take the place off my hands ? As he chose 
to refuse, and refused rather rudely too, I was obliged 
to make the best of ajt ris-aller” 

Conscience declined to be silenced by such excuses, 
and, after many unavailing repetitions of them, Ve- 
ronica, being a tolerably healthy young woman, adopted 
the most conclusive of all arguments by allowing 
slumber to overpower her. 

On the following day, however, she could not re- 
frain from partially letting Joe into the secret of her 
misgivings. She did not hint at any desire on her part 
to retract her offer — that, she felt, would be hardly fair, 
especially as the young fellow did not seem to think 
that she could be contemplating such a course — but she 
did confess that she felt rather sorry for poor Hor- 
ace. 

“Well, yes,” answered Joe; “he has certainly got 
the worst of it all round. Being sorry for him won’t 
help him, though, and as you can’t give him what he 
wants, you had better not worry yourself with thinking 
about him any more.” 

“ It is all very fine to talk like that,” returned Ve- 
ronica, rather sharply ; “but how can I help worrying 
myself? I know I was perfectly right to release him 
from his engagement, and I don’t for a moment sup- 
pose that he would wish to renewdt now, if it could be 
renewed ” 

“ Rather not ! A man who would give a girl a sec- 
ond chance, after having been treated as you treated 


THE DOWNFALL OF AN IDOL. 273 

him, would be a most consummate ass; and Trevor 
isn’t an ass.” 

“I never said he was, Joseph, and I wish you 
wouldn’t interrupt. But although he may be well rid 
of me, it is rather hard upon him to have lost what he 
ought to have inherited from Uncle Samuel — not to 
speak of having lost Dolly Cradock.” 

“ Brought up in a pious household, as you have 
been, Veronica,” remarked Joe, “you must be familiar 
with David’s hasty assertion that all men are liars. He 
ought never to have said such a thing, and I won’t de- 
grade myself to his level by declaring that all women 
are humbugs. Still there is no denying that most of 
them are, and very sorry I am to find that you belong 
to the majority. You know as well as I do, and prob- 
i ably a great deal better, that although that Cradock 
: girl might perhaps have accepted Trevor if he had pro- 
posed to her, he never did propose to her, nor ever 
thought of doing such a thing.” 

“ I know nothing of the sort,” returned Veronica. 

1 “ What I do know is that he couldn’t afford to marry 
a poor woman, and that she couldn’t afford to marry a 
poor man.” 

j “ Rubbish ! He has never cared a brass farthing * 
for any woman but you, and you don’t improve your 
case by pretending to doubt that. Them is my senti- 
ments, Veronica ; and I regret that they should make 
' you so red and angry.” 

A little red in the face Veronica might have been, 
but she was not angry, as her next words, which were 


274 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


spoken in quite a mild, diffident tone of voice, proved. 
“ Have you seen him or heard from him,” she asked, 
“ since — since that horrid time ? ” 

“ I have had one or two letters from him,” answered 
Joe ; “ but I burnt them, because it isn’t fair to remem- 
ber all that a poor chap writes when he is down on his 
luck. He’ll get over it, you know — everybody gets over 
everything in time — and then, of course, he’ll wonder 
why he should have made such a fuss about such a 
trifle. The loss of a nice property is no trifle I grant 
you ; but that couldn’t be avoided. Trevor is such a 
good fellow that I daresay he will be glad to hear of his 
loss being my gain.” 

“You cannot,” observed Veronica, after a pause, 
“ be more convinced of his being a good fellow than I 
am ; and if he has any regrets, as you seem to think 
that he has, I am sure mine must he quite as keen as 
his, and will last as long. Perhaps, when you write to 
him again, you will tell him that, Joseph. I suppose it 
is just possible that he may believe it.” 

“ It is possible : I shouldn’t say that it was alto- 
gether likely. But this is very unprofitable talk. 
What’s done can’t be undone, and the only thing for 
us to do now, as sensible people, is to make the best of 
existing circumstances. If I am to take this property 
off your hands, Veronica — and really, if it is not to go 
to Trevor, I think it might as well go to me as to any- 
body else — we ought not to lose time about seeing your 
lawyers and making some definite arrangement. The 
most satisfactory plan, I think, would be for me to be 


THE DOWNFALL OF AN IDOL. 


275 


present at the interview. Then I should hear exactly 
what the estate is worth, and I could state pretty nearly 
how much additional income I should require in order 
to enable me to do as you wish.” 

“Very well,” answered Veronica, trying not to 
think what a deteriorating influence wealth, or the 
prospect of acquiring it, exercises upon all human 
beings. “ Ought we both to go up to London, then?” 

“ I should say so. Mrs. Mansfield will give you 
houseroom for a night or two, I suppose, and I know a 
fellow who will put me up at his rooms, if I ask him. 
I shall make some excuse to my fond parents, and you 
may as well do the same ; because there’s no use in tell- 
ing them what is up until the thing is settled, one way 
or the other. The lawyers, you see, are sure to raise all 
manner of difficulties, and you yourself may alter your 
mind.” 

“ I shall not alter it in this instance,” answered Ve- 
ronica. And she felt constrained to add : “ I did 
not think you would be so hard and unsympathetic 
about it all.” 

“ Did you expect me to plump down upon my knees 
and burst into tears of gratitude? Now, look here, 
Veronica; you have done a lot for me, and. I’m not un- 
grateful for benefits received ; but when you wonder at 
my not thanking you for what you propose to do now, 
you should bear in mind what you are asking of me. 
I shall be called a robber ; my own people will think 
pretty meanly of me, though they may be glad that I 
am provided for ; I shall let myself in for no end of 


276 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


bother, and what shall I get in exchange? A big 
house, a comfortable income, and fairly good shooting? 
But I have no fancy for big houses, and my shooting 
has improved so much of late that I shall always be 
sure of as many invitations as I can accept. Upon my 
word and honour, I would far rather be a land-agent 
than a landlord. Consequently, if I see my way to con- 
sent to your proposal, I shall consent simply and solely 
in order to oblige you. As for sympathy, you mustn’t 
demand it of me just at present. You haven’t behaved 
in a way that I can sympathise with, Veronica, and 
that’s the truth.” 

Veronica did not care to justify herself. She was 
not pleased with Joe, and was all the less pleased with 
him because, from a common-sense point of view, his 
censure was merited. However, there was at least one 
person — apparently there was only one — who could ap- 
preciate what her difficulties had been, and who even 
approved of the manner in which she had dealt with 
them. So that when, shortly after the above conversa- 
tion had taken place, Mr. Mostyn was announced, his 
reception was of the warmest character. 

“I was longing for you!” his pupil exclaimed. 
“ Let us go out into the garden, if you don’t mind ; I 
want to abuse everybody, except you, with plenty of 
space and fresh air round me.” 

The weather was mild and sunny, so Mr. Mostyn, 
who only loved fresh air so long as there was no un- 
pleasant nip of east wind in it, smiled and assented, re- 
marking that the human race, with the one honourable 


THE DOWNFALL OF AN IDOL. 


277 


exception which she had mentioned, would find no en- 
thusiastic champion in him. 

“ This world,” said he, while he carefully picked his 
way across the moist lawn beside the swiftly stepping 
Veronica, “is inhabited by beings of whom many are 
cruel, most selfish, and nearly all stupid. Every now 
and then it is a relief to abuse them, although the best 
plan; generally speaking, is to accept them for what 
they are and keep one’s temper. What particular mis- 
creant has been rousing your ire to-day?” 

Veronica led the way to a somewhat damp and 
mouldering bench, upon which she threw herself down 
before replying discontentedly : “ Oh, I don’t know, 
after all, that I ought not to rail at myself instead of 
at other people. Perhaps it is my own fault that every- 
thing goes askew with me.” 

The poet followed her example, after tucking his 
coat-tails under him. “ This mean,” he observed, “ that 
your relations have been urging you to reconsider your 
decision and to beckon Mr. Horace Trevor back again.” 

Veronica said it did not mean that, but she con- 
fessed that the one of her relations whose support, or 
at least comprehension, she had counted upon had not 
answered to her expectations. “ And it makes me feel 
as if I should have done more wisely to leave things 
as they were and marry Horace. He would have been 
kind to me, and I should have tried not to interfere 
with him, and I daresay the failure wouldn’t have been 
so complete as my actual failure is.” 

“ I must be allowed to demur to the assertion that 


278 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


you have made any actual failure,” returned Mr. 
Mostyn, smiling. “ You are depressed and irritated 
to-day, as we all are sometimes, but that feeling will 
pass off. If you had carried out your scheme of marry- 
ing a man who is essentially prosaic, your depression 
and irritation would have become chronic, not occa- 
sional. I speak of what I know; for, like you, I am 
blessed or afflicted with the invariable poetic tempera- 
ment, and it has taken me all my life to reduce it to a 
state of partial discipline.” 

“ Perhaps you are right,” answered Veronica dubi- 
ously; “but you differ from me in being a man. I 
suppose men can endure loneliness better than we can.” 

“ Well, it is more tolerable to be alone than to be 
forced into uncongenial company ; but why should you 
be alone? Just now you did me the honour to except 
me from the general condemnation. I don’t know that 
I deserve such a compliment ; but I am sure that the 
more chances you give me of deserving it the happier I 
shall be. Perhaps also you might in some very slight 
degree increase your own happiness by letting me see 
you oftener.” 

Veronica expressed the gratitude that she felt in lan- 
guage which doubtless flattered the poet’s vanity, ac- 
customed though his ears were to flattering speeches. 
“ But,” she added, “ in spite of all your kindness and 
friendliness, you can never prevent my life from being 
a lonely one. For one thing, even if you don’t grow 
tired of me and my feeble little attempts at rhyme, I 
shall so seldom see you ! Only when you happen to be 


THE DOWNFALL OF AN IDOL. 


279 


down here, and perhaps not then, for I am beginning to 
understand that this cannot be my permanent home.” 

Mr. Mostyn rose and walked away for a few paces. 
Then he returned and stood looking down upon Ve- 
ronica with kindly, compassionate eyes. “ You are 
hardly more than a child,” he said, “ and I am almost 
an old man. Yet one knows of cases in which crabbed 
age and youth have managed to dwell together in con- 
tentment. Veronica, will you give me the right to live 
with you and take care of you until one of us dies? 
Don’t mind laughing at me, if the suggestion strikes 
you as irresistibly comic.” 

It did not strike Veronica in that light — on the con- 
trary, it brought the tears into her eyes — but she said at 
once that she could never accept an offer so obviously 
inspired by pity. “ Only I shall always be proud to re- 
member that you have done me this great honour,” she 
declared ; “ it will be something to think of when I am 
inclined to doubt — as I know I often shall be — whether 
anyone has ever regarded me otherwise than with a sort 
of amused scorn.” 

Her lover (for such he boldly asserted himself to be) 
resumed his seat beside her, took her hand, and ex- 
plained very gently and quietly how far she w r as from 
entering into his meaning. He would have spoken 
long ago, he said, but had been restrained by the not 
unnatural diffidence which beseemed a man old enough 
to be her father. Even now, he hardly liked tf> tell her 
of his doubts — his repressed hopes — his absurd and un- 
warrantable jealousies. All he could venture to offer 


280 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


her was protection, appreciation, a tender and respect- 
ful sympathy. If these could by any means be made to 
suffice, they should be hers at a word. 

Veronica almost felt that they might be made to 
suffice. She had, it was true, broken off a previous 
engagement on the specific ground that marriage with- 
out love was an experiment too dangerous to be essayed ; 
but then she very well remembered having told Horace 
at the time that she could and would have married him 
if they had had anything in common, and with Cyril 
Mostyn she had more in common than with any other 
man of her acquaintance. Moreover, protection and 
appreciation — especially protection — seemed to her to 
be the very things of which she stood most sorely in 
need. So, after a moment or two of silence and self- 
interrogation, she made the reply which had, perhaps, 
been expected of her. 

“ And of this, at any rate, I can feel sure,” she added 
with a smile, “ that you are not offering to marry me 
for the sake of my money. I don’t know whether I 
could have felt sure of that if you had been anybody 
else.” 

“ I hope I need not tell you,” rejoined the poet, 
“ that to me money appears to be about the most con- 
temptible of the many false gods which poor humanity 
has set up for itself.” 

“ Yes, I know you think so ; all your writings show 
it ; and it is a point upon which you and I are abso- 
lutely agreed. Anyhow, my husband’s riches will be 
very little if at all increased by me ; for I may tell you, 


THE DOWNFALL OF AN IDOL. 


281 


in strict confidence, that I have now arranged to bestow 
the Broxham estate upon my cousin, Joe Dimsdale, and 
as he will require additional means in order to keep up 
the property, I have promised that he shall have as 
much as I can spare of my income into the bargain. 
Then I am more or less pledged to help dear old Un- 
cle John; so that if I reserve a few hundreds a year 
for myself that will be all I shall be able to manage.” 

“ My dear girl,” remonstrated Mr. Mostyn, laughing, 
“ your Quixotry would be admirable if it had not the 
drawback which attaches to all Quixotry. Of course 
such a programme is out of the question ; your cousin 
could never agree to it.” 

“ But he has agreed to it.” 

“ Is it possible ? Then I am afraid that I must say 
that / cannot agree to it. I should be ashamed of my- 
self if I were to consent to such a suicidal act on my 
wife’s part.” 

“ Perhaps you would be right,” answered Veronica 
reflectively; “I can understand your feeling in that 
way. Only, you see, the act will have been committed 
before I become your wife.” 

Mr. Mostyn shook his head, still laughing. “ I 
assure you that it will not ! I must save you from your- 
self, as well as from your friends, and I beg to say most 
distinctly that our engagement must be contingent 
upon your undertaking not to sign away an acre of your 
land or a shilling of your fortune.” 

He really meant it, although it took Veronica some 
little time to realise that he was speaking seriously. 


282 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


What shocked her beyond measure was that, at the end 
of a somewhat warm discussion, she extracted from him 
an avowal for which she had been wholly unprepared. 

“ I should be sorry to see you despoiled,” said he ; 
“ but I must confess that I myself do not wish to be 
despoiled either. I am am not more greedy than my 
neighbours — possibly even a little less so — but I am not 
less subject to the material conditions which govern our 
lives here below. I am, in fact, a comparatively poor 
man, and I feel no inclination at all, at my age, to 
double my expenses for the sake of enriching Master 
Joe Dimsdale.” 

“Then,” said Veronica firmly, “I cannot be your 
wife.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “ Not if you remain 
obdurate, I am afraid. Can you not understand that 
life is prose, and that poetry is only the pleasant illu- 
sion which helps us to forget for a time what we actu- 
ally are ? ” 

“ Oh,” murmured Veronica, aghast, “how small you 
are ! ” 

She had imagined him great, and was proportion- 
ately disappointed and disgusted ; but, in truth, there 
was no more ground for her disgust than there had 
been for her illusion. As a poet Cyril Mostyn was rela- 
tively great ; as a critic he was positively so ; viewed 
from a moral standpoint, he was of about the average 
size and weight. He was justified in boasting that he 
was not more greedy than his neighbours, for he had 
never treated his art as a means of making money nor 


THE DOWNFALL OF AN IDOL. 


283 


even deigned to court that popularity which commands 
large sales ; on the other hand, he was rather self-indul- 
gent, and had no notion of giving up small luxuries for 
the sake of a sentimental idea. This, stated with such 
elegant periphrasis as the occasion seemed to demand, 
was what he strove to render intelligible ; and, although 
he met with scanty success, he went away without 
appreciable loss of self-esteem. 

Veronica, for her part, sought the seclusion of her 
own chamber in a frame of mind bordering upon de- 
spair. Many human beings, Mr. Mostyn had said, are 
cruel, most are selfish, and nearly all stupid. He him- 
self, it appeared, deserved a place in each of the former 
categories ; she was by no means certain that he ought 
not also to be included in the last. And the rest of 
them were like him — even Joe, who had shown such a 
business-like determination to take as much as he could 
get. 

“ If I have had one disinterested friend in all my 
life,” sighed Veronica disconsolately, “it has been Hor- 
ace Trevor, and he will never be my friend again.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


job’s comforters. 

“ So you and Joe are to go up to London together 
to-morrow, I hear, Veronica,” remarked Deborah Dims- 
dale cheerfully, a few days later. “ I am very glad you 
have made up your mind to leave. Not, of course, that 
we shall not miss you ; but it can’t be good for you to 
stay moping here, and you look so pale and miserable. 
It isn’t as if you had plenty of occupations to take you 
out of yourself, as I have.” 

Deborah, who had been visiting the poor of the par- 
ish, had returned from her ministrations with a fine 
colour and an empty basket. There was not much to 
make the present or the future bright for this poor, in- 
significant, unlovely little person ; but she took life as 
she found it and had no complaints to make, as Veron- 
ica noticed, with some envy and a little compunction. 

“ I shall not be away for long, you know,” the 
latter observed ; “ I have to interview the lawyers and 
the dressmaker, and Aunt Julia has kindly offered to 
take me in for a couple of nights or so ; but my busi- 
ness will soon be transacted.” 

“ Oh, I don’t expect to see you here again before the 

( 284 ) 


JOB’S COMFORTERS. 


285 


summer,” returned Deborah, laughing; “when once 
you are in London you will stay there, and all these 
foolish misunderstandings will be cleared up, I hope 
and believe. You never speak to me about yourself, 
Veronica, and I don’t venture to ask questions; but, of 
course, I have heard the whole story, and now that that 
tiresome Miss Oradock has been disposed of, I am sure 
you and Mr. Trevor will make it up, like sensible peo- 
ple. Stupid as I am supposed to be, I have had some 
experience of lovers and their ways of going on. There 
was a very similar case to yours in the village last year. 
Betts, the baker, you know, and Sally Miles, whom he 
has since married. I always told Sally that, if she would 
only have patience, all would end well ; and, sure 
enough, that pretty girl at the Seven Stars whom he 
took it into his silly head to run after jilted him for a 

commercial traveller ; after which ” 

“ The analogy would be perfect,” interrupted Ve- 
ronica, “ if I had been forsaken by Mr. Trevor and if I 
were going up to London to meet him. The only re- 
spect in which I differ from Sally Miles is that her am- 
bition was to marry, whereas mine is to remain single.” 

But Deborah knew a great deal better than to believe 
that, and signs were not wanting that other members of 
the household shared her amiable anticipations. It was 
just as well not to undeceive them or to insist too much 
upon the necessity which had arisen for holding a con- 
sultation with Mr. Walton. When the results of that 
consultation should be divulged, there would, no doubt, 

be some protests and lamentations ; but these would be 

19 


286 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


cartailed by the knowledge that they came too late — 
probably also by a little irrepressible joy at Joe’s good 
fortune. If Veronica was disposed at this time to form 
somewhat cynical appreciations of her fellow-creatures, 
it must be owned that she was not wholly without ex- 
cuse. 

One small consolation was that Joe had now become 
much pleasanter and more like his old self. By mutual 
consent, Veronica and he had ceased to discuss the future, 
leaving that and all questions connected with it to be 
dealt with in the unemotional atmosphere of Lincoln’s 
Inn Fields, and reverting, just for these few days, to old 
familiar habits, which must perforce be shortly aban- 
doned for ever. This was made more easy by the de- 
parture of Mr. Mostyn, who had left home, and who, it 
was understood, had gone to seek refreshment in those 
Parisian literary circles which he always declared to be 
essential as an occasional corrective to insularity. 

“ If that beggar would have himself naturalised as a 
Frenchman at once, I don’t think Great Britain would 
be much the poorer,” Joe remarked, strolling leisurely 
towards home with Veronica, after a satisfactory morn- 
ing with the ferrets ; “ what you can see in him to ven- 
erate so respectfully has always been a mystery to 
me.” 

“ I cannot help admiring his work,” she answered ; 
“ I don’t admire him personally quite as much as I once 
did.” 

“ Oh, you’ve found him out at last, eh ? ” 

“ I suppose so ; one ends by finding everybody out. 


JOB’S COMFORTERS. 287 

At least, one finds that very few people are exactly what 
one took them for.” 

“ One does indeed ! ” said Joe. “ At the same time, I 
must confess that I never took your friend Mostyn for 
anything but a wind-bag. How and where did you con- 
trive to stick a pin into him ? ” 

Veronica did not at first feel that she would be justi- 
fied in answering the question; yet she knew Joe to be 
thoroughly trustworthy, and she had been wont to admit 
him into her full confidence in days gone by, and her 
present sense of isolation weighed so heavily upon her 
that at length, after binding him to secrecy, she made 
up her mind to relate what had passed between her and 
her dethroned demi-god. 

“ Don’t you think it was disgusting of him ? ” she 
asked in conclusion. 

“ Well, if you come to that,” answered Joe impar- 
tially, “ no, I don’t. When a man offers to make a cer- 
tain bargain, he isn’t bound to accept a totally different 
one. I grant you that you would have been disgusting 
if you had agreed to marry that fellow upon any terms, 
and I was very much afraid that you would agree to 
marry him until I heard, to my relief, that he had de- 
camped.” 

“ You don’t mean to say, Joseph, that you ever ex- 
pected him to propose to me ! ” 

“ Strange to relate, Veronica, that is just what I did 
expect, and have been expecting ever since you became 
a full-blown heiress. Luckily for you, there is every 
prospect of your soon ceasing to be a temptation to 


2S8 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


poets and others. I flatter myself that if I step into 
your shoes I shall not run the same risks. It will take 
an uncommonly clever woman to persuade me that she 
is enamoured of my personal charms.” 

“ There is such a thing as being too suspicious,” re- 
marked Veronica, not best pleased with his tone. 

“ I am quite willing to take your word for that, my 
dear. You ought to know. The mistake which some 
people are apt to make is in suspecting those whom 
they ought to trust and trusting those whom they 
ought to see through. Now, Trevor, for instance, 
is a man who can be trusted through thick and thin, 
and ” 

“ I never distrusted him at all,” interrupted Ve- 
ronica impatiently. “ You don’t or won’t understand 
why I had no choice but to break off that unfortunate 
engagement ; and there is no use in talking any more 
about it. I thought you agreed with me that bygones 
had better be bygones.” 

“ Of course I do,” replied Joe. “ Only it isn’t a 
bad plan to bear bygone errors in mind. Then, per- 
haps, one may be preserved from making a fool of one- 
self a second time.” 

One does not always get a second chance of doing 
so, nor could Veronica feel as confident as she would 
fain have felt that she was not about to make a fool of 
herself in a new direction. However, Joe did not seem 
to be troubled with any misgivings upon that head. 
On the way up to London, the next day, he spoke freely 
to his travelling-companion of the life which he pro- 


JOB’S COMFORTERS. 


289 


posed to lead when Broxham should have passed into 
his hands. 

“ I shall have to keep a part of the house perma- 
nently closed until I marry,” he observed. “ Marriage, 
of course, is inevitable — rather a bore ; but there’s no 
help for it. I shall look out for some sensible young 
woman who understands housekeeping ; but I daresay I 
sha’n’t find her for a year or two, and in the meantime 
the furniture must take its chance of moth and dry rot.” 

“Poor Aunt Julia!” interpolated Veronica, with a 
sigh ; “ she did so throw her heart into the furnish- 
ing ! ” 

“ Poor thing ! Well, I might let her have it at a 
valuation if she cared to take it away, because I sha’n’t 
be using the rooms. For some time to come the house 
must be a bachelor establishment ; but I shall do what 
I can to improve the property and I shall take care to 
keep the shooting up.” 

“ Will you ever ask Horace to shoot with you, do 
you think? ” asked Veronica, with an effort. 

“ Oh, yes ; I won’t fail to ask him. Why not ? ” 

“ Won’t it be rather painful for him ? ” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if he did find it a bit painful 
just at first, but one gets accustomed to all sorts of 
1 funny things. And he has no quarrel with me , you 
\ see.” 

“ I hope he has no quarrel with me either.” 

“ H’m ! he must be something very like an angel in 
human form if he hasn’t. That’s a forbidden subject 
though, isn’t it?” 


290 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


Veronica was of opinion that, so far as Joe was con- 
cerned, it had better remain forbidden ; but she wished 
very much that she could see Horace and conclude a 
treaty of peace. Kudely and unfairly as he had hither- 
to met her advances, she longed to renew them and 
even to offer the apology which perhaps, after all, he 
had some title to exact. At the bottom of her heart 
there had always lurked a faint hope that he would per- 
mit her to redress her wrongs, and now that that was no 
longer possible, her anger against him was fast melting 
into compassion. 

When the train reached Paddington, where Mrs. 
Mansfield’s footman was in attendance upon the plat- 
form, Joe said: “I wouldn’t mention to your aunt 
what has brought you up to London, if I were 
you. She’ll only want to argue with you, and it’s 
as well to be able to put a stop to argument by 
announcing that it comes a day too late. I as- 
sume, of course, that you have quite made up your 
mind.” 

“ Oh, yes ! I have quite made up my mind,” an- 
swered Veronica. 

“ Because if you haven’t, please say so ; you won’t 
disappoint me, I can assure you. Only I would rather 
not state in the presence of your lawyers that I am pre- 
pared to accept the property, subject to certain con- 
ditions, and then be informed that you have thought 
better of your plan. That wouldn’t place me in quite 
the most becoming possible attitude for the portrait of 
a gentleman, you see.” 


JOB’S COMFORTERS. 


291 


“You need not be under the slightest apprehen- 
sion,” replied Veronica, a little coldly. 

“ All right ; then I’ll call in South Audley Street 
for you about half-past ten to-morrow morning. I 
think you said you had made an appointment with Mr. 
Walton for eleven o’clock.” 

Veronica said she would be ready at the hour named, 
and took leave of her cousin with as much cordiality as 
she could bring herself to display. This practical, hard- 
headed young man was not the boy who had been her 
friend in old days ; he was not even the Joe with whom 
she had gone out ferreting twenty-four hours ago. But 
boys, unfortunately, grow up into men, and friendship 
is a word of elastic interpretation, and the less one ex- 
pects of one’s fellow-mortals, the less likely one is to be 
troubled with headaches and heartaches. 

To plead that she had a headache (as, in truth, she 
had) was one method of disarming the hostile criticism 
of Aunt Julia ; and it seemed to be a tolerably success- 
ful method, for that ill-used lady was really very kind 
and forbearing. She made much of her niece, forcing 
her to lie down upon a sofa, insisting upon the imme- 
diate administration of homoeopathic remedies, and 
heroically abstaining from any reference to the breach 
between them which had now been closed. Only, as was 
but natural, she had one or two questions to ask, which, 
after a time, she apologised for putting. 

“ I don’t want to bother you, my dear,” said she, 
“ and, of course, if you have made no plans yet you 
cannot tell me what you are going to do ; but it would 


292 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


be convenient to have some sort of idea of what is re- 
quired of me. Please don’t say ‘ Nothing,’ or I shall 
think you are still angry with me.” 

“ I never have been angry with you, Aunt J ulia,” 
answered Veronica, sincerely enough. “I have given 
you reason to be angry with me, I know ; but I don’t 
see how I could have helped that. And how could I 
possibly say that I required nothing of you, after invit- 
ing myself to stay with you ? As for plans, I think I 
must wait a little longer before I can speak of them. 
For the present, all I have to do is to see Mr. Walton 
to-morrow about some matters of business and to do a 
little shopping; so that I shall not need to inflict myself 
upon you for more than two days.” 

“ But you will come back to me later, Veronica? 
Really there is no other course open to you that I can 
see. And something ought to be done about Broxham. 
If you don’t want to live there the place must be let, I 
suppose — though I should hate to think of strangers 
inhabiting the poor old house ! ” added Mrs. Mansfield 
plaintively. 

“ I am afraid I could not make up my mind to live 
there,” said Veronica, thinking it as well to pave the 
way for the distressing announcement which would have 
shortly to be made. 

“ Yet you must live somewhere , my dear. However, 
I renounce all attempt to influence you ; my only wish is 
to be of service to you in any way that I can. I suppose 
you do receive some reports from Broxham? You are 
not leaving the servants to do exactly as they please ? ” 


JOB’S COMFORTERS. 


293 


“ Oli, no ; I get constant letters,” answered Veronica, 
smiling ; for she thought it very unlikely that Aunt Julia 
had taken no measures to assure herself of that fact. 

After this there was a pause, which was broken by 
Veronica’s inquiring, “ Have you seen anything of 
Horace lately ? ” 

“ Yes; he was here a few days ago. Quite well, and 
full of engagements, as usual. Horace is always so im- 
mensely in request. I warned him that you were com- 
ing, so that he might not drop in again until the coast 
was clear.” 

“ But I thought you said he harboured no feeling of 
resentment against me.” 

“ Nor does he, dear fellow ! I was thinking of you 
rather than of him. I felt that a meeting would be so 
very awkward for you ! ” 

“ There must be a little awkwardness the first time 
we meet, I suppose,” answered Veronica; “but we are 
almost sure to meet again some day, and I would much 
rather get it over at once and have done with it. Be- 
sides, I want to tell him how sorry I am for all that has 
happened.” 

“Wouldn’t that sound a little ironical, dear? I 
mean, he might take it in that way — or he might think 
it rather bad taste. I will ask him to dine to-morrow, 
if you really wish it— though I doubt whether he would 
be able to come— but I should advise you to leave well 
alone.” 

Veronica made no rejoinder, and presently Mrs. 
Mansfield resumed — 


294 : 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LOCK. 


“ I presume you have heard that Dolly Cradock’s 
engagement to Mr. Hornblower is announced. Poor 
Lady Louisa is in the seventh heaven, and Horace says 
he means to buy her the handsomest wedding present 
he can afford. I daresay he feels relieved, for she cer- 
tainly did try very hard to ensnare him — as if he ever 
would have looked twice at her ! ” 

“ You considered her quite dangerous at Broxham, 
I remember,” Veronica could not help remarking. 

“ Oh, not as a rival ! I only thought, and I think 
still, that she did a good deal towards reconciling him 
to the little disappointment which was in store for him. 
The truth is that you made far too sure of him, Ve- 
ronica, and that is always such a mistake. I tried to 
warn you at the time ; but you would not listen to me, 
and now you see ! However, one can but hope that all 
has fallen out for the best, and I do trust that you 
won’t distress yourself any more. You are looking 
anything but well, dear, I am sorry to see.” 

Mow, it did not need any extraordinary clearness of 
vision to fathom the depths of this innocent and pel- 
lucid diplomacy. Mrs. Mansfield evidently misunder- 
stood the nature of her niece’s repentance, and flattered 
herself that by applying the spur to certain well-known 
feminine characteristics she could yet contrive to renew 
a repudiated compact. But although that much was 
obvious, it did not follow tfiat she had misstated facts. 
It might very well be the case — indeed, it probably was 
the case — that Horace was not inconsolable ; it was also 
by no means unlikely that, should his forgiveness be en- 


JOB’S COMFORTERS. 


295 


treated, lie would leap to Aunt J ulia’s erroneous conclu- 
sions. Upon the whole, therefore, Veronica reluctantly 
decided that her idea of seeking an interview with him 
must be abandoned. After all, it would, perhaps, sound 
a little ironical to say that she was sorry, and to inform 
him in the same breath that she no longer had it in her 
power to make substantial amends for the injury that 
she had done him. It was impossible to foresee how he 
would receive such an announcement, or what he would 
imagine that she could mean by it. The unhappy 
thing, the irremediable thing, was that, as Joe had 
truly observed, poor Horace had u got the worst of it all 
round.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


Joseph’s host. 

Mrs. Mansfield alarmed Veronica a good deal at 
breakfast the next morning by proposing to accompany 
her to the lawyer’s office. 

“ I know how independent you are, dear,” said she ; 
“ but I really cannot feel that it is quite right for you to 
be roaming all over London alone, and as you choose to 
go to Mr. Walton, instead of sending for him — which I 
should have thought would have been rather more fit- 
ting than that he should send for you — I may as well 
take this opportunity of consulting him about some 
small affairs of my own, upon which I wish to have his 
opinion.” 

“ Oh, but indeed you must not think of doing that ! ” 
protested Veronica. “It always gives you indigestion 
to go out immediately after breakfast, you know, and, 
of course, Mr. Walton can come to you at any time. I 
will give him a message if you like. As for me, I shall 
not be unattended ; my cousin, Joe Dimsdale, who trav- 
elled up with me yesterday, has promised to call and 
take me to the City. He — he has business* there him- 
self.” 


( 296 ) 


JOSEPH’S HOST. 


297 


Mrs. Mansfield, who was secretly desirous of finding 
out what her niece’s business with Mr. Walton might 
be, persisted for a few minutes, but finally had to give 
in, and was fortunately free from any suspicion as to 
the nature of Joe Dimsdale’s business. She ended by 
remarking — 

“ I suppose you won’t be very long ; I understood 
that everything connected with your succession to the 
estate had been wound up, and surely Sutton is the 
proper person to deal with leases and all that sort of 
thing. What is the use of having an agent unless he 
takes such burdens off your shoulders.” 

“ There are some things which I think I ought to go 
into myself,” answered Veronica disingenuously; “but 
I doubt whether I shall have to trouble Mr. Walton after 
to-day.” 

“ Well, at all events,” observed Mrs. Mansfield, giv- 
ing utterance to the thought that was in her mind be- 
fore she could stop herself, “ Mr. Walton may be trusted 
to prevent you from doing anything rash or foolish. In- 
deed, there isn’t very much that you can do now.” 

Veronica burst into one of her sudden, irrepressible 
laughs. She was not in a particularly merry mood; 
but the contrast between this misplaced confidence and 
the dismay with which Aunt Julia would subsequently 
learn of what rashness and foolishness she was still 
capable overpowered her for the moment. Luckily the 
entrance of the butler, who came to announce that a 
young gentleman was waiting for her at the door, en- 
abled her to take to her heels without giving the ex- 


298 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


planation which Mrs. Mansfield’s open eyes and mouth 
demanded. 

“Jump in, Joseph!” she said, as she hurriedly en- 
tered the hansom beside which her cousin was standing. 
“ Make haste, or we shall have Aunt Julia starting in pur- 
suit. It has already begun to dawn upon her that I am 
up to no good.” 

“Leave her to me,” returned Joe placidly; “I’ll 
undertake to say that no old woman shall divert your 
humble servant from his purpose. When I once make 
up my mind to a thing I pretty generally contrive to 
carry it through.” 

Veronica thought that on the present occasion it was 
rather more a question of her mind and her purpose than 
her companion’s, but she said nothing, and before they 
had been driven very far on their way it appeared that 
even the self-complacent Joe was not infallible. 

“ Confound it all ! ” he ejaculated suddenly, looking 
up from the pages of a note-book which he had been 
consulting. “ Here’s a nuisance ! I say, Veronica, will 
it matter if we keep that old lawyer chap waiting a short 
time?” 

“ I don’t suppose he will like it,” answered Veronica ; 
“ but we shall be sure to find him at his office up to 
five o’clock in the afternoon, I believe. What is the 
matter ? ” 

“ It’s awfully stupid of me ; but I have got to see a 
man this morning, and if I don’t go at once I shall miss 
^him, because he was to leave town at half-past eleven. 
Would you mind waiting for me? I shan’t be 


JOSEPH’S HOST. 


299 

more than twenty minutes or half an hour at the out- 
side.” 

Veronica did not mind waiting, but she did rather 
object to returning to South Audley Street, and when 
she suggested that she might sit in the hansom at his 
friend’s door Joe declared decisively that that wouldn’t 
do at all. 

“ I’ll tell you what you might do,” he said suddenly ; 
“ you might come to that chap’s rooms where I’m stay- 
ing and wait for me there. He always breakfasts at his 
club, so you’ll have the place to yourself ; and, even if 
he should turn up before I come back, it won’t matter. 
He knows all about you.” 

Veronica assented more readily than most young 
ladies would have done to a proposal in which she saw 
nothing out of the way. Joe’s host, she presumed, 
would be willing to give her shelter for a quarter of an 
hour, and she very much preferred being indebted to 
him for so ordinary an act of civility to risking a re- 
newal of her conversation with Aunt Julia. For the 
rest, she was not at all likely to encounter that un- 
|! known gentleman. The snug little bachelor’s apart- 
ment in the neighbourhood of St. James’s Street into 
which she was presently conducted by Joe was, as he 
had anticipated that it would be, untenanted ; and after 
she had been left there with an illustrated paper to 
while away the time, she amused herself by speculating 
upon what manner of man the usual occupier of the 
jnemises might be. 

Evidently a sporting man, to judge by the prints, 


300 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


crayons, and water-colours with which the walls w r ere 
covered, and which represented hunting and racing 
scenes alone. Nevertheless, a man who was not with- 
out refined tastes, nor even destitute of literary culture ; 
for the furniture showed signs of having been carefully 
selected, the colours were subdued and well-assorted, 
and upon the tables lay quite a large number of books 
such as sporting persons seldom trouble themselves to 
open. Some of these, it was true, looked suspiciously 
new, while the leaves of a few had not even been cut ; 
but a book-marker was sticking in “ Sartor Resartus,” 
and that this work had been honestly perused, not 
merely skimmed through, was plain from the rumpled 
condition of its pages. Veronica picked up the volume 
and glanced at it with a smile, remembering how, in 
the days when Horace had been eager to profit by her 
instructions, she had placed it upon her list of books to 
be read, and how he had confessed that, although he 
found Carlyle splendid in certain passages, there were 
others over which he had cudgelled his brains in vain 
to discover what the writer was driving at. Poor Hor- 
ace ! he had always been modest, always sincere, always 
ready to give people whom he did not understand credit 
for knowing more than he did — which could hardly be 
said with truth, for some of the authors with whose 
productions he had been invited to make himself ac- 
quainted. As much, assuredly, could not be said for 
Mr. Cyril Mostyn, a copy of whose “ Essays on the Lit- 
erature of the Victorean Era ” lay close at hand. Still, 
it was rather presumptuous of Joseph’s friend to have 


JOSEPH’S HOST. 


301 


disfigured this standard work by scrawling a gross cari- 
cature of the famous poet and critic upon the flyleaf, 
and to have stigmatised the well-weighed exordium by 
scribbling “ Conceited ass ! ” in pencil on the margin. 

“ This young gentleman wants taking down a peg,” 
said Veronica to herself. “ I almost wish he would 
come in, so that I might ask him what he means by it.” 

As if in answer to her hasty aspiration, the street 
door was slammed at that moment, and a step was heard 
ascending the staircase. 

“ Oh, here he comes ! ” thought Veronica. “ Well, I 
shall certainly tell him that there are more conceited 
asses than one in the world, and that, whatever Mr. 
Mostyn may be in private life, his writings at least are 
entitled to respect.” 

But she said nothing of that sort when the rightful 
owner of the room which she had invaded and the book 
which she held in her hand stood before her, every 
feature of his face expressing the most profound amaze- 
ment. What she did say was, “ Good gracious ! Do you 
live here ? ” 

“ Of course I live here,” Horace Trevor replied. 
“ Hut— but ” 

“ But you would be glad to know what / am doing 
here, I suppose,” suggested Veronica, recovering her 
self-possession, as it dawned upon her that she had been 
made the subject of a wily stratagem. “ It was Joe who 
brought me ; he wanted me to wait a quarter of an hour 
for him somewhere, and he never mentioned you were 
the friend with whom he was staying. Ho doubt he 
20 


302 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


has done this on purpose, and I am sure he meant 
kindly. Indeed, it really was kind of him, for I was 
most anxious to see you again, Horace.” 

Horace did not look as if he had experienced any 
similar anxiety. 

“ Won’t you sit down,” he said stiffly. “ I daresay 
Joe will be back presently. Of course, I shouldn’t have 
come in if I had had the least idea that you were 
here.” 

“ I will not be quarrelled with,” returned Veronica 
resolutely. “ I am quite ready to beg your pardon, if 
you think I ought — in a way, I think so myself. But 
you must know how miserable it has always made me to 
have supplanted you, and if you have any sense of jus- 
tice at all, you cannot help admitting that I have tried 
my utmost to make restitution.” 

“ And goodness knows,” exclaimed Horace, “ I 
have tried my utmost to convince you that there never 
was or could be any question of restitution in the mat- 
ter ! You wouldn’t speak in that way if you knew how 
— how — well, I can’t find any other word for it — how 
offensive it is to me ! ” 

“ Offensive is not a very pretty word to use, I must 
say,” remarked Veronica, colouring slightly ; “ but, how- 
ever offensive I may be, I am determined not to be 
offended ; and if you won’t take the estate, Horace, and 
don’t wish to take it— as I quite believe that you don’t 
— why should you go on being angry with me ? ” 

Horace bit his lip and made no immediate reply. 
At length he remarked : “ I don’t know whether you 


JOSEPH’S HOST. 


303 


are capable of imagining yourself in my place — I sup- 
pose you aren’t, or you would never have asked such a 
question. But don’t you think it would make you a 
little bit angry if the man whom you love best in the 
world were to take it for granted that he could atone 
for having kicked you downstairs by offering you pecu- 
niary compensation ? ” 

“ That is neither a fair nor a true way of putting 
it,” Veronica returned. “You required no compensa- 
tion for having been released from a woman who, as 
you and Dolly Cradock knew very well, could never 
have been formed into the sort of wife whom you ought 
to marry. It never entered into my head to offer you 
compensation. All I begged of you was to take the 
[ property which was already yours by rights, and which 
I myself care so little about that, in default of any 
other claimant, I have decided to make it over to Joe. 
Perhaps he has told you that he and I have come up to 
London for that purpose.” 

Horace nodded. “ Yes, he told me last night what 
you were contemplating. I must confess I was sur- 
prised and sorry to hear of it. However, it is no affair 
; of mine.” 

“It ought to be ; only you won’t allow it to be. 
i You mean, of course, that you are sorry on my account, 

: and that you think I am acting foolishly. That is 
: what everybody will think, and I am quite prepared for 
! censure and ridicule, and even scolding. But I don’t 
| see why I should be deserted by my friends because I 
f am going to be poor, instead of rich, and I did hope 


304 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


that you would consent to be one of my friends, in spite 
of all.” 

“ I am sure,” answered Horace, a little softened by 
this appeal, though he was fully alive to its absurdity, 

“ there can be nobody living who can be more anxious 
to serve you than I am, Veronica, and I wouldn’t for 
the world have you think that I want to sulk ; still, 
when you talk about friendship — well, honestly, I don’t 
see how that is possible between you and me. Anyhow, 

I am certain that I could never be friends with your 
husband.” 

“ But I haven’t got a husband.” 

“ You will have one soon. Unless, indeed, he is 
choked off by this sudden surrender of your fortune to 
a third person, as he very likely will be ; for if ever 
there was a man who knew on which side his bread was 
buttered, it is the great and good Mr. Cyril Mostyn.” 

“ If you have heard anything about Mr. Mostyn,” 
said Veronica, “ you must have heard that he has al- 
ready been choked off, as you call it. Joe had no busi- 1 
ness to repeat that to you, though, after promising to <• 
hold his tongue.” 

“ Joe hasn’t mentioned the fellow’s name to me. I 
wasn’t so blind that I couldn’t see what his little game 
was, and I am glad, for your sake, that he has given it 
up. All the same, I should like to take a running kick 
at him — which he deserves.” 

“ I don’t think that he deserves such treatment,” 
said Veronica, laughing, as a rapid vision of Mr. Mostyn 
being propelled into space by the application of one of 


JOSEPH’S HOST. 


305 


Horace’s shooting-boots flashed before her. “ He is no 
worse than •'everybody else. Everybody, except, perhaps, 
you and me, takes a very practical view of life when it 
comes to be a question of pounds, shillings, and pence. 
That is one reason why we ought to be able to shake 
hands.” 

Horace heaved a sigh. “ Oh, I am ready to shake 
hands, if that’s all,” he answered. 

“ Only you won’t forgive and forget.” 

“ Yes, I will. At least I’ll forgive. I won’t forgive 
that fellow Joe, though — never was so disappointed in 
a boy in all my life ! My opinion is that he ought to be 
ashamed of himself, and so I’ve told him.” 

“ But he is only taking Broxham to oblige me.” 

“ Yes ; that’s what he has the impudence to say. 
But I can’t quite swallow that story. He wouldn’t have 
found shelter under this humble roof if I had known 
what his errand was, I can tell him ! And, not content 
with collaring the land, he demands a big sum down in 
hard cash besides, I understand.” 

“ Of course it sounds grasping,” agreed Veronica ; 

“ but, as a matter of fact, the place can’t be kept up 
without a sufficient income. I remember Lord Chip- 
penham telling me that 1 should not find the whole for- 1 
tune I had inherited at all too much.” 

“ And do you mean to say that you are going 
to bestow all your fortune upon that young ras- 
cal?” 

“ Hot the whole of it ; I explained to him that I 
couldn’t do that. We are going to talk things over 


306 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


with Mr. Walton now, and see how much can be 
spared.” 

“ It is easy to foretell how this will end,” remarked 
Horace lugubriously ; “ you will make a pauper of your- 
self, and nobody will thank you. Oh, Veronica, why 
couldn’t you let things be ! I am not good enough for 
you, and you don’t care for me — that’s an answer, of 
course. But at least I could have given you a home 
and protection ; and certainly no one will ever love you 
more than I do.” 

“ But are you quite sure that you do love me, 
Horace ? ” asked Veronica gently, after a pause. 
“ Aunt Julia says ” 

“Aunt Julia be hanged! I will tell you this, Ve- 
ronica : I am as sure of loving you to my dying day as 
I am that it will never be in my power again to ask you 
to be my wife. No ; not even if, by any possibility, 
you should change your mind and come to care for me. 
For, as you say, one is bound to take a practical view of 
the pounds, shilling, and pence question, and my income 
is only just enough to keep a bachelor alive upon.” 

Veronica had seated herself in Horace’s arm-chair, 
and was pressing her finger-tips together thoughtfully. 
There was something which she wanted to say — some- 
thing which she had only at that moment realised that 
she ought, perhaps, to say. Yet it seemed doubtful 
whether she would not do a great deal better to hold 
her peace. The young man, meanwhile, had walked to 
the window, and was standing with his back turned 
towards her, staring out into the street. 


JOSEPH’S HOST. 


307 


“ Horace,” she began at length timidly, “ I should 
like yon to know the whole truth. I still think I did 
right to set yon free ! I still think that, if only Dolly 
Cradock could somehow have been put into my place, 
you would have been far happier with her than you ever 
could have been with me : I still see — I can’t help see- 
ing — that we are not suited to one another. But I 
know — and, if you will believe me, I never did know it 
until now — at least, not for certain, I have only had 
occasional sort of suspicions that it might be so — I 
know now that I should have been happy with you, in 
spite of all.” 

Horace darted back from the window like a hare, 
and stood before her with dilated eyes of amazement. 
“ Veronica,” he stammered, “ do you know what you 

are saying ? Do you really mean ” 

“ Oh, no ; not that ! ” she answered, jumping up 
hastily and placing the chair between her and her inter- 
rogator ; “ pray don’t imagine that I have changed my 
mind once more, and that I want to undo what has 
been done. Only I felt that I must tell you that — 
that ” 

“ That you love me, Veronica ! ” 

“ I don’t think I was going to say quite that,” an- 
swered Veronica, still edging away ; “ but it doesn’t 
really matter. You must see yourself that, whatever you 
may wish for the moment, and however anxious you 
may be to do a dreadfully foolish thing, that chapter is 
closed. I can’t go back from my word to Joe ; I can’t keep 
the property which I have promised to give up to him.” 


308 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ Let him take it, and welcome ! ” cried Horace ; 
“ I’m sure I don’t want the place, if you don’t, 
and — I say, Veronica, I wish you wouldn’t run about 
the room like that ; you make me so giddy I can’t 
speak ! ” 

“ It isn’t in the least desirable that you should 
speak until you can talk rationally,” answered Veron- 
ica; “ but I will stop running about if you will be good 
enough to stand still and listen to me for one mo- 
ment.” 

Horace at once became rigid and motionless. 
“ All right,” he answered ; “ I’m listening. Only 
it’s sheer waste of time to repeat that we are not 
suited to one another. Let me remind you of 
what you said that afternoon in the library at 
Broxham. Our having nothing in common wouldn’t 
have mattered, if you remember, according to you, 
so long as we were in love with one an- 
other.” 

“ I may have said so, though I can’t recollect it ; 
but let me remind you of what you said not five 
minutes ago. It was never to be in your power 
again to ask me to be your wife, even if I came 
to care for you : because there wouldn’t be money 
enough.” 

“ Ah, but when I said that I made sure that you 
never would care for me. And, look here, Veronica — 
of course we should be awfully poor ; but by putting 
our means together — and surely you have a right to 
keep a few hundreds a year for yourself — we should 


JOSEPH’S HOST. 309 

have enough to live upon. Are you so afraid of pov- 
erty ? ” 

“ Not for myself, perhaps ; but I should be very 
much afraid of it for you. How long would you 
be happy, do you think, without even a horse to 
ride?” 

“ I should be happy,” answered this infatuated 
young man decisively, “ just as long as you were. Hap- 
piness for me means being with you, Veronica — that 
and nothing else. Of course, I’m fond of hunting, and 
you’re fond of — well, poetry and literature and all that; 
but if I were told that I should never have another day 
with the hounds after marrying you I shouldn’t wince 
— upon my word and honour I shouldn’t. I’d pay that 
price and a longer one, too, without thinking twice 
about it. I wonder whether you would pay the price of 
living in a small house upon small means with an igno- 
ramus who prefers a page of Jorrocks to all the vol- 
umes that Mr. Cyril Mostyn has ever turned out ! ” 

Veronica looked at him with a smile, and he read in 
her eyes the answer which she still hesitated to return 
verbally. He advanced a few paces towards her, and 
this time she did not draw back. She only murmured, 
“ I know it is all wrong ! It is clean against reason and 
common-sense ! ” 

“ That’s just the beauty of it ! ” cried Horace ex- 
ultantly ; “ nobody will be able to accuse us now of 
marrying for any reason at all except the best of rea- 
sons.” 

And during the half-hour that followed it never 


310 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


occurred to either of these self-engrossed persons to 
wonder what had become of Joe Dirnsdale, or to recol- 
lect the serious inconvenience to which a busy solicitor 
is apt to be put when his clients fail to keep their ap- 
pointments. 


(CHAPTER XXVI. 


FELICITATIONS. 

Joe mounted the stairs very slowly, making a good 
deal of unnecessary noise about it, and met with great 
apparent difficulty in turning the door-handle. This 
youth may have had his faults ; but it must be ac- 
knowledged that he was dowered with a foresight and 
discretion beyond his years. When he at length suc- 
ceeded in effecting an entrance, Horace and Veronica 
were seated some little distance apart, and had the air 
of having been engaged in polite conversation. The 
former started up, shook his fist, and grinned ; though 
he could not help looking a little foolish. 

“ You young ruffian ! ” he exclaimed. “ What do 
dou mean by playing me such a trick as this, eh ? ” 

“My dear Trevor,” answered Joe, composedly, 
“that strikes me as a somewhat superfluous question. 
What I meant by it is precisely what has come of it — 
neither more nor less than that. As a general thing,” 
added Joe, modestly, “ I know what I mean ; and what 
I mean I do. Sorry not to be able to say as much for 
certain other folks who shall be nameless.” 

Veronica rose and walked quickly across the room 

towards him, stretching out her arms. 

( 311 ) 


312 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


“ Dear Joseph ! ” she exclaimed, “you were right all 
along, and I wish I had listened to you, instead of 
thinking that I knew better. And now — oh, how can I 
thank you ! ” 

“Hi! Stop! — don’t do that !” shouted Joe, jump- 
ing back in much alarm. “ I have a»sincere respect for 
you, Veronica, but I don’t want to be kissed, thanks. 
That sort of thing isn’t done any longer in the best 
families, as you must be aware. In these days salutes 
are only bestowed upon people who aren’t blood re- 
lations.” 

“ You shall not be embraced, then, you rude boy ! ” 
returned Veronica, laughing. “ I suppose there is no 
offence in my telling you that you are a darling, though. 
If you hadn’t played us this trick, as Horace rather un- 
gratefully calls it, I don’t know what would have be- 
come of me ! Perhaps I should never have found out 
that I wished to marry Horace, and almost certainly I 
should never have married him.” 

Joe raised his eyebrows, dropped the corners of his 
mouth, and whistled. “ Hullo ! ” he ejaculated, “ this is 
serious, this is ! A reconciliation w^as all very well, and 
any little trouble that I may have been put to in bring- 
ing it about I should be the last to grudge, but a mar- 
riage — well, I don’t know so much about a marriage. 
I daresay you have settled it all very comfortably be- 
tween you ; but I should like to know what part I am 
expected to play in this touching final scene.” 

“ Why, the part that you have accepted, of course,” 
answered Veronica. “ Did you think that I was going 


FELICITATIONS. 


313 


to display my gratitude by telling you that, after all, I 
had decided to keep Broxham for myself ? ” 

“ I must own that it wouldn’t have surprised me if 
you had, Veronica; the situation, you see, isn’t what it 
was. At the same time I must say that in my opinion a 
bargain ought to be a bargain, and although I was very 
anxious to see you and Trevor friends again, perhaps I 
shouldn’t have acted quite as I have done if I could have 
foreseen what advantage you would take of my little 
stratagem. IIow was I to foresee it when you both as- 
sured me again and again that you had done with one 
another forever ? You may say that I ought not to con- 
sider my own selfish interests; but ” 

“ But indeed, Joe,” protested Veronica, in a dis- 
tressed voice, “ we never for a moment contemplated 
breaking faith with you. Bid we, Horace?” 

“ I am quite sure you never did, at any rate,” an- 
swered Horace, conscious that he had been unable to 
give his cordial approval to her plan of self-spoliation, 
“ and your wishes are mine.” 

“ H’m ! ” grunted Joe, glancing from one to the other 
and stroking his chin meditatively ; “ I wonder whether 
you realise what this means, you two. I warned you 
from the first, you know, Veronica, that an estate with- 
out an income would be no good to me, and by the time 
that I have relieved you of what will be strictly neces- 
sary, you will be a poor woman, I am afraid. Mind, I 
sha’n’t complain if you decide to be off your bargain ; I 
only say that half measures will be useless.” 

“ I am not dreaming of half measures,” Veronica de- 


314 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


dared. “ I know well enough that I shall be poor, and 
I want to he poor ! So does Horace. I doubt whether 
he would have had anything to say to me if 1 had re- 
mained rich.” 

“Really? Well, this ought to convince you, at all 
events, that he is a rather better chap than you took him 
for. Likewise it shows that even the very best judges 
may sometimes be deceived in a man. I must own that, 
after the way in which Trevor jumped down my throat 
last night, I should never have supposed that he wanted 
you to be poor. Why, there was hardly a bad name in 
the English language that he didn’t throw at my head ! 
— and all because of my readiness to do you a favour!” 

“ Oh, well ; we needn’t go into that,” said Horace, 
reddening a little. “ I thought at the time that you 
ought not to have taken advantage of Veronica’s deter- 
mination to impoverish herself ; but circumstances alter 
cases, and, as 1 told you just now, her wishes are mine.” 

“ So I may take it that we have your full assent to 
the proposed arrangement?” observed Joe interroga- 
tively. 

Horace nodded. “ Certainly you have,” he replied. 

“ That’s all right, then. What a funny thing that 
you should have become so indifferent to wealth all of a 
sudden and that I should have developed such a clear 
appreciation of its value ! This is the result of falling 
in love, I suppose. Heaven grant that, when my time 
comes, I may not find it quite so expensive a luxury ! 
Well, Veronica, how soon will it suit you to look up the 
patient Walton?” 


FELICITATIONS. 


315 


“This moment, if you are ready,” answered Ve- 
ronica with alacrity. 

“I’m afraid we can’t go now. Just look at the 
clock, and you will see that by the time we could reach 
Lincoln’s Inn Fields the good man would probably have 
gone out to get his lunch somewhere, cursing you for 
your unpunctuality. No; you had better make a fresh 
appointment with him, accompanied by a suitable 
apology ; and, talking of apologies, this seeing to be 
about as appropriate a moment as another for you and 
Trevor to go down upon your knees and beg my 
pardon.” 

“What for?” asked Horace, who, to tell the truth, 
was not best pleased with Joe’s bantering tone. 

“ He wants to know what for, if you please ! Here’s 
a nice sort of a fellow to have for a friend ! It never 
strikes him that he has been insulting me grossly by 
believing that I have been in earnest all this time ; he 
doesn’t give me credit for having a particle of honesty 
or decency in my whole composition ! I don’t so much 
wonder at Veronica; I have more than once had occa- 
sion to notice before now that, for a clever woman, she 
is quite amazingly devoid of ordinary intelligence. But 
I really did hope that you knew better, Trevor, than to 
mistake a young man of hitherto unblemished character 
for a highway robber. My one consolation is that I 
have had a brilliant success. You can’t get rid of your 
property now, and neither of you can go on any longer 
indulging in ridiculous suspicions about the other. 
Now beg my pardon, please, and I’ll try to forgive you.” 


31G 


A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. 


As a matter of course, both Horace and Veronica 
declared that this would never do. They were quite 
willing, they said, to humble themselves in the dust be- 
fore their benefactor, they even admitted that they had 
to some extent misjudged him; but they were clearly 
of opinion that the existing arrangement could not now 
be cancelled. There were many good reasons why it 
should be maintained, and these they proceeded to 
state, While Joe, having asked permission to light his 
pipe, threw himself down in an easy chair and listened 
with exemplary patience. 

“ Have you quite done?” he inquired at length. 

“ Yes, I believe so,” answered Horace ; “ if you don’t 
understand by this time what my position is, I can’t 
hope to make you.” 

“ Anything more to say, Veronica?” 

Veronica signified that she also had exhausted her 
stock of convincing arguments. 

“ All right. Then let me tell you, my good friends, 
that I’ll see you at Jericho beyond Jordan before I 
comply with your cool request. I have already had the 
honour to inform one of you that I have no personal 
ambition to become a landowner, and what you propose 
to do is simply to thrust responsibilities upon me which 
properly belong to you, in order that you may have the 
right to swagger about your disinterestedness. Much 
obliged, but I don’t see it. It doesn’t make the slight- 
est odds to me whether Broxham belongs to Mr. or Mrs. 
Horace Trevor. You had better fight out that question 
between you. All I know is, that it will never be the 


FELICITATIONS. 


317 


property of Joseph Dimsdale, Esquire. At the same 
time, if you feel that you owe me some substantial 
acknowledgment of my services — and not to affect 
mock modesty, I must say that I think you do — you 
might bear in mind what my real ambition is. As a 
land-agent, I believe that I should do justice to myself 
and my employers, and old Sutton is getting past his 
work. Put me into old Sutton’s berth, my dears, and 
all shall be forgiven. I accept your apologies, and I 
think that what you have gone through will serve as a 
lesson to you not to behave like absolute fools for the 
future.” 

They could hardly have escaped falling under that 
condemnation, had they offered any further resistance, 
and the condemnation (if such it be) which their 
friends and acquaintances did not fail subsequently to 
pass upon them of having been at once too wise and 
too weak to hold out against the force of circumstances 
was a thing to be borne with philosophy. Each knew 
what to think of the other ; so that it was scarcely a 
subject for profound unhappiness that sundry persons 
should declare themselves incapable of knowing what 
to think. Mrs. Mansfield, at all events, was not num- 
bered among these bewildered outsiders. 

“ If you expect me to express the least astonishment, 
my dear,” she said tranquilly to Veronica later in the 
day, “ I am afraid I must disappoint you. I foresaw 
that you would come to your senses soon ; and very 
much indebted you ought to feel to that young cousin 

of yours for having given you this opportunity. As 
21 


318 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


for dear Horace, he has behaved quite admirably 
throughout. Some people may call him lucky; but 
I shall always think the good luck is all on your 
side.” 

A somewhat similar opinion was ^entertained and 
enunciated by Miss Dolly Cradock, who spared half an 
hour from the purchase of her trousseau to call in 
South Audley Street and congratulate her reaffianced 
friend. 

“ There’s no use in fighting against destiny,” she 
was pleased to say ; “ if there were, I daresay I shouldn’t 
be the future Mrs. Hornblower, and I daresay you 
wouldn’t be the future Mrs. Trevor, my dear Veronica. 
But I don’t complain of my destiny, and I’m sure you 
have no reason to complain of yours. It would have 
served you right to be taken at your word ; but then, 
again, it would have been rather rough on him to be 
cut out of the estate. Don’t try riding to hounds with 
him, though — if you’ll accept a word of advice from a 
sincere well-wisher — and don’t make him yawn his poor 
head off by reading poetry to him. Give him plenty of 
tether and you’ll find him as good a little man as there 
is. The whole secret of matrimony, you may depend 
upon it, is to give as much as you can and take all you 
can get.” 

A much more gracefully worded form of felicitation 
reached Veronica from Paris, whence Mr. Cyril Mostyn 
wrote to give utterance to the mixed feelings with 
which he had heard of his pupil’s last change of plans. 
A suggestion of mild melancholy pervaded a composi- 


FELICITATIONS. 


319 


tion of which the phraseology left nothing to he desired, 
and which was in all respects a model of good taste. 
The writer evidently recognised that the time for warn- 
ings and remonstrances had gone by ; he accepted the 
inevitable without indiscreet inquiry or comment; his 
good wishes were quite paternal in tone and were 
marred by no faintest allusion to the circumstances 
under which he had parted from his fair correspondent ; 
if an under-current of misgiving was perceptible in his 
harmonious periods, it was not of a nature to cause 
offence. 

“ For a man of my age,” he remarked,” life can have 
no further surprise, illusions, or disillusions, in store; 
but to you, who are as yet upon the mere threshold of 
experience, it is probable — even, I fear certain — that 
troubles will come. Then you will instinctively fall 
back, as I have done many and many a time, upon art, 
the one unfailing, inexhaustible consolation. Then you 
will, perhaps, call to mind a few of the technical hints 
which it has been the greatest privilege of a veteran to 
convey to a neophyte. Is it too much to hope that 
then also you will think not unkindly of one who will 
ever remain your sincere and attached friend ? ” 

Well, it was easy enough to think kindly of Mr. 
Mostyn, although, in Veronica’s opinion, his technical 
instruction was very unlikely to be utilised after the 
fashion referred to. That she could ever stand in need 
of any other consolation than Horace could give , her 
she did not believe, and that, even if she should, she 
would find it in the exercise of an art with which she 


320 


A VICTIM OP GOOD LUCK. 


had but played, seemed to her in the last degree im- 
probable. But nobody’s life can be written while he > 
or she lives; and Veronica, having a sound consti- 
tution, may be expected to live for a great many years 
yet. 


THE ehd. 


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